


Homeward Bound

by an_orakk



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Illustrations, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Sam Wilson Is a Good Bro, Steve Rogers Is a Good Bro, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-08
Updated: 2020-09-05
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:21:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 35,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23539057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/an_orakk/pseuds/an_orakk
Summary: After Quentin Beck reveals his identity to the world, Peter has nowhere else to turn but to the Avengers. Or, well, what's left of them. His world is turning upside down, and it's taking everyone he cares about with it. Everyone he hasn't already lost.Peter feels stuck. On pause.Until a stand-off with Wilson Fisk has them both crashlanding in 2021 - right in the middle of the Blip.
Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Comments: 177
Kudos: 425





	1. The Old Pocket Watch

Ben used to have an old pocket watch.

As far back as Peter could remember, it always looked like it’d seen better days. Peter thought it might have been gold once. Either way, the color had long since dulled to brown, the shine faded and flat.

_Well-used,_ May had once called it.

_Well-loved,_ Ben had said in return.

It was old and tired, but much like the man himself it was reliable. Despite the wear and the age, it ticked steadily on, counting the minutes away. Ben never went anywhere without it.

Sometimes, when he thought no one was looking, Ben would close his eyes, hold that old pocket watch to his ear, and listen to it. But Peter was Peter, and he was always looking at Ben.

“Why do you do that?” Peter had asked once. He was barely out of kindergarten and bold in the way that kids usually were, and he hadn’t learned the meaning of any fancy terms like _subtlety_ or _respecting someone’s privacy._ But Ben was Ben, and he was always listening to Peter.

“It used to be my father’s,” Ben told him.

“Oh. Do you miss him?”

“Of course. Just like I still miss your father.”

Peter had accepted that answer, even if he still hadn’t quite understood it.

But then Ben was gone. Time marched on without him, and when winter rolled in that year, May gave Peter one of Ben’s old coats. It was too big for him, but it still smelled like Ben.

Then Peter reached into the pocket and found that old watch. Even after all that time, it was still ticking, still reliable, almost a comforting weight in his hand. Peter closed his eyes, held it to his ear, and listened. And for the first time, he understood.

Peter missed the pocket watch. All of his things had been stored at the Compound during the Blip. The watch had been lost with everything else.

And now that the Compound was gone, the Avengers were holed up in a shiny, brand new base. HQ was what Dr. Banner and the Falcon kept calling it, so maybe that was what Peter was supposed to call it, too.

HQ. Tony would’ve hated that name.

Peter opened his eyes, finally giving up on sleep. Nothing felt right here. This place was too _new._ Too un-lived-in. He could swear it even had that fresh car smell.

He kicked the blankets off and got out of bed. His room was still pretty bare. Peter hadn’t had the time to decorate it yet - and to be honest, he wasn’t even sure if he was allowed to. This wasn’t really _his_ room after all. It was a guest room at HQ, and Peter didn’t even know how long he would be here.

Of course they couldn’t stay at home. Not after Jameson plastered his face all over New York.

If it hadn’t been for Pepper, they might never have made it out in the first place. She got to the apartment only minutes after Peter did. By then, the place was already surrounded by a mob - media, anti-vigilante activists, and even just normal people demanding answers. It was loud, it was chaos, and suddenly the Rescue armor came slamming down on the fire escape. Pepper Stark nee Potts easily stepped out of the suit, fixed her hair, and knocked on their window.

Peter let her in.

The battlefield was the first time they’d met, the funeral the second. This was only the third time Peter was face-to-face with Pepper, but she looked at him like she’d known him for years.

“Hello, Peter,” she said. “Mrs. Parker, it’s lovely to see you again. Happy’s waiting for you just a few miles away.”

“Okay,” May said. “How are we getting there?”

“That’s how _you’re_ getting there, ma’am.” Pepper looked at the Rescue armor. Peter saw May’s eyes follow and knew what her answer was before she even started shaking her head.

“No.”

“May, go.” Peter shot forward, grabbing her hands. He held them close, hoping he was comforting her even if his own hands were shaking. “I’m - I’ll be okay. If things go south - uh, any _souther,_ more _southern_ than they are now, I know I can get myself out. But I need you safe.”

May took him by the face. She was crying. He hadn’t seen her cry since they’d found each other after the Blip. “Peter,” she said, her voice breaking, “I need _you_ safe.”

“I’ll take good care of him,” Pepper promised.

There was a long beat of silence. Then May broke. “Okay,” she said, but she held Peter tighter. “Okay. I’m gonna hold you to that. Both of you.” She pressed a kiss into Peter’s hair and stepped back. “How do I-”

Before she could even finish the sentence, the suit dissolved into nanites and snatched her away. Peter watched her go.

“Sorry,” Pepper said. To her credit, she sounded like she meant it. “But we’re short on time as it is.”

“Is she…?” Peter couldn’t finish the sentence.

Thankfully, Pepper seemed to understand. “She’ll be safe,” she said. “Now, it’s our turn.”

“Okay. How are we getting out?”

“Through the front door.”

_“What?”_

If Pepper was put off by the skepticism, she didn’t show it. She pulled a compact mirror from her pocket. “We need to do damage control, and we need to do it quickly.” She fixed her collar and wiped at the corner of her lip, where her lipstick had smeared. “If we don’t get in front of this story, they’re going to shred you worse than J. Jonah Jameson ever could. But if we face this head-on, we can control the narrative.”

“Control the narrative.”

“Yes. We have to reassure the public that they can trust you before they really have the chance to stop.”

“We can do that?”

Pepper actually smiled. “Tony was a walking PR nightmare,” she said, but the fondness in her voice betrayed her. “Thanks to him, I can speak three languages - English, French, and damage control.”

Peter let out a shaky breath. He wished that was more comforting than it was. “Okay,” he said. “I walk out the front door.”

_“We_ walk out the front door. I’m going to lead you out.”

“What?” No. Absolutely not. Unacceptable. “Miss - Mrs. Stark, it’s a _mob_ out there.”

“Trust me, Peter.” Pepper clapped the compact mirror shut. “Leave your mask off, but keep your expression calm if you can. Don’t make eye contact with anyone. Just keep your eyes on me, okay?”

It was chaos outside. Pepper could seriously get hurt.

But Pepper wasn’t just anyone. She wasn’t just Tony Stark’s wife, or the CEO of a Fortune 500 company. She was Rescue.

It struck Peter with startling clarity. She’d been on that battlefield, too.

“Okay,” Peter said. Trust her. He had to trust her. “Okay, keep my eyes on you.”

Pepper smiled. “Just follow my lead,” she said, and opened the door.

What looked like hundreds of faces filled Peter’s sight. For a terrifying moment they converged - swelling forward together, like a monster. Peter was dizzy. He couldn’t breathe. He shouldn’t have agreed to this - he needed to get Pepper out of here, he still had his web shooters, he could swing them out the window -

But all at once, the people hushed. And they weren’t looking at Peter.

Pepper stood in the doorway, chin held high. Poised and perfect as always. People melted back, like looking at her alone was too much.

She wasn’t the savior of the universe. But she was his widow. And Peter supposed that that had its own power.

The people parted like the Red Sea for her, and Peter shadowed behind her. The apartment door closed behind them. Peter knew he’d never set foot in his home again.

Less than an hour later, Pepper had given an official statement to the media, shedding light on Quentin Beck’s troubled history with Tony Stark and announcing firm support of Spiderman.

And Peter had to admit, even though the news headlines were insane that night, barely any of them tried to vilify him like Jameson had. Instead, people were clamoring about Beck, and Pepper Stark’s first public appearance since the Blip was reversed. But Peter Parker’s whole life was getting dragged all over public platforms. He was getting placed under a spotlight. The whole world knew who he was.

Despite all that, it could’ve been worse. Judging from that video Beck’s people had given to the Daily Bugle, it could’ve been so much worse.

And honestly, Peter knew he only had Pepper to thank for that. She even sheltered them for a few nights in the cabin. Even there, Peter felt...displaced. But he got to meet Morgan, the real her, who wasn’t dressed in black for reasons she didn’t fully understand. And he loved her instantly.

But she was young. She was bold, in the way that kids were.

“I’ve seen pictures of you,” she said one day, when they were coloring in the living room.

Peter raised his eyebrows. “Yeah?” he asked. “There are lots of pictures of Spiderman these days, huh?”

“No, I mean, in our house. Daddy had one.”

She reached for the green crayon Peter was holding, oblivious to his shaking hands. She colored for a moment, then paused, eyebrows furrowing. “I miss him,” she said, voice small. Big eyes turned on Peter, and he felt frozen. “Do you miss him, too?”

He did. He missed Tony so much that it hurt sometimes.

But Peter just had to look around and see the family photos of Tony, Pepper, and Morgan; he saw old family videos that Pepper would play for Morgan; he heard Tony’s voice one night when Morgan couldn’t sleep, and Pepper played a recording of Tony reading a bedtime story. And he knew that this wasn’t his home. This was Tony’s home. And the empty air of where Tony used to live became suffocating.

So Pepper set up this arrangement with the Avengers. Happy offered his home, too; but his studio apartment was meant for a bachelor, and they all knew it.

Still, Peter urged May to go with Happy, to a more cozy place. Somewhere that might have felt more like home.

But May had none of it, so the Parkers officially had their own suite in HQ. It was its own living space, separate from the main part of HQ, but it was just as cold feeling.

This was the best possible outcome Peter could have gotten after Beck ruined his life one last time. Honestly, he knew he was lucky to be here. But maybe he was being ungrateful, or he was just bitter, because he didn’t feel lucky. In one fell swoop, he managed to uproot his whole life and everyone else’s along with it.

May’s career, her passion project, her home, all of it was gone. But she never once looked back.

He couldn’t sleep well in this new place, and he didn’t think that she could, either. Sure enough, when Peter left his bedroom, he could see the kitchen light on.

Restless nights were nothing new in the Parker household. There were a lot of them like this, before...everything. Before the world ended. Before they’d lost the home they shared with Ben. Before...before.

But the kitchen table wasn’t the old wood one with chipped corners; the mug in front of her wasn’t the _World’s Best Grandma_ one that Ben had bought from a garage sale for a quarter; the light wasn’t even the normal warm, yellow glow. Everything was white, or stainless steel. It all shined, new, untouched, unloved, and it almost hurt to look at.

But May was the same. Her long brown hair fell loosely around her shoulders, tufts falling into her face. Her glasses sat on the end of her nose, a crossword puzzle set out in front of her. The pen she was holding was decorated with teeth marks.

May looked up as Peter walked in. She smiled in that sad, understanding sort of way and patted the spot beside her. Peter flopped into the chair next to her.

_I’m sorry,_ he wanted to say. But he’d said that enough in the past few weeks, so instead he said, “Winston.”

May blinked, then cast him a sidelong glance. “Excuse me?”

Peter tapped the crossword puzzle. “Sixteen across, _Churchill and Smith._ It’s Winston.”

May looked down and frowned. “But I have an L where the S would go.”

“Then I guess Los Angeles isn’t the capital of California.”

“But it’s the only city in California I know.” Peter laughed, and May jabbed him with her pen. “Okay, genius, name one other city in California.”

“California...City?”

“Are you asking me or telling me?”

Peter laughed again as May scribbled out _Los Angeles_ and filled in _Winston._ He still missed that old pocket watch, but May was solid and reliable beside him. Everything around them was different now, but this was familiar. This, at least, felt like home.


	2. An Unexpected Guest

“Whoa, what’s that?”

“That’s a gift from the princess of Wakanda for my lab. She said she assumes I need an upgrade, based on a brief interaction five years ago.”

“Oh, cool. And what’s that?”

“That is - extremely volatile, please don’t touch-”

“Oh, gotcha, gotcha. Is there a trap in here?”

“What?” Dr. Banner looked away from his schematics, turning a bemused expression on Peter. “Why would there - no, there’s no trap.”

“Tony’s lab used to have a trap. It shot enough electricity to take down a bear.” Peter leaned back on his stool. “What’s this?”

Dr. Banner eyed what Peter was staring at, a beaker filled with a thick pale sludge. “That’s-” He stopped. “I don’t know what that is.”

It was a slow day at HQ. At least it was for Peter. May was out with Happy and wasn’t expected back until tomorrow; she’d checked with Peter a thousand times to make sure he’d be alright with her gone, and it nearly took both him and Happy shoving her out the door to get her to go. She deserved some time away. She never got that, not since they lost Ben.

But truth be told, without May, Peter didn’t have anyone else.

He missed Ned and MJ. But Peter hadn’t just caught May and Happy up in his personal landslide. From the few phone calls he’d been able to steal with his friends, he knew they were both holed up in their apartments. The media was hounding them, borderline harassing them.

Peter knew they were trying to keep the worst of it from him, but all he had to do was turn on the news. Snapshots of a deer-in-the-headlights Ned walking out of his apartment. Nasty tabloids about the company Spiderman kept. MJ had been cornered on a subway and had to physically push her way out, and that night _Spiderman’s girlfriend assaults reporter_ got splashed all over the Daily Bugle. They couldn’t even go to school, not if they wanted to be safe.

MJ’s parents had banned her from ever speaking to him again. When she ignored them, they took her phone and laptop, and Peter hadn’t heard from her since. Ned’s parents were more forgiving. At least, they were originally. Then Ned spilled about all the times he’d gotten wrapped up in Spiderman’s problems, and then they’d blacklisted Peter, too.

So outside of occasional check-ins from Happy and Pepper, May had really been Peter’s only friend in the past few weeks.

Which, he had to admit, was pathetic. Even for him.

Friday was installed at HQ, but she wasn’t great for conversation. Not like Karen was. Dr. Banner and the Falcon were the only two Avengers around - maybe the only two Avengers at all - and they were kind enough. Sort of. They weren’t straight up _rude,_ at least. In fact, they hadn’t said more than two words to Peter since he and May washed up on their doorstep. Peter couldn’t say for sure that they were avoiding him, but he did once see Dr. Banner lunge through a window when he noticed Peter coming in his general direction.

Which was why Peter couldn’t believe Dr. Banner actually invited him to come hang out in his lab. Maybe Dr. Banner took pity on him. Peter _had_ just been lying on the lobby floor, throwing balls of web up at the ceiling, bored out of his absolute mind. Or maybe Dr. Banner had just been trying to protect their ceiling.

Either way, Peter got to hang out with him. He got to watch _the actual Dr. Bruce Banner_ in his _actual lab_ doing _actual Avenger science stuff._ He couldn’t wait to tell Ned.

If he ever got to tell Ned.

Now, Dr. Banner was holding that beaker of Mystery Sludge, squinting at it. “Yeah,” he muttered, “I have no idea what this is.”

“I was wondering where I left that.”

Peter and Dr. Banner turned away from the work table to see the Falcon striding into the room. The man looked like he’d just come from the training room; his clothes were clinging to his skin, and sweat was dripping off his brow. He snatched the beaker from Bruce.

And chugged it.

That. Wasn’t what Peter was expecting.

If his face was anything to go by, Dr. Banner wasn’t expecting it, either. “Your protein shake?” He looked horrified. “You’re using my _lab utensils_ as _kitchenware?”_

“We were out of glasses,” the Falcon said like it was obvious.

“There are at least a hundred different cups in this place, and we have _cleaning staff._ What do you mean, we were out of glasses?”

The Falcon shrugged, raising his eyebrows. “We were _out_ of glasses.”

Peter looked back and forth between them, fascinated. He’d seen Dr. Banner dodge him a few different times, but past his first day in HQ Peter had barely seen the Falcon. The man was elusive. Mysterious. _Cool._

“At least clean that before you go,” Dr. Banner said, exasperated.

“I thought you said we had _cleaning staff.”_

Dr. Banner rolled his eyes but turned back to his work table. Peter offered the Falcon a quick smile. The Falcon didn’t return it. Jeez.

Even if the Falcon wanted to keep his distance, Dr. Banner seemed to be warming up to Peter. Or, at least, Peter hoped he was. He really hoped he wasn’t imagining it. But when Peter turned to look back at the work table, Dr. Banner shifted enough to give him a better view of what he was working on.

Moving seemed like it was hard for Dr. Banner. The man was stiff and jerky, and more than once Peter caught him wincing as he pulled a muscle the wrong way. But he seemed like he was getting used to working with only one hand. Peter didn’t know how long the other arm would be in a sling, or if Dr. Banner would ever be able to take the sling off again.

“So...what is this, exactly?” Peter asked. Schematics were splayed across Dr. Banner’s work table. The work table was nothing like what Tony’s used to be; there was no controlled chaos, no three-day-old coffee mugs shoved to the side, no food wrappers crumpled and scattered across it. Dr. Banner’s table was neat, coordinated, the corners of all papers perfectly aligned. There was a place for everything, and everything was in its place.

An awkward look shifted across Dr. Banner’s face. “It’s...an upgrade for a project,” he said. To Peter’s surprise, the Falcon came around and stood across from them, eyes skimming across the table. His lips moved in a soundless _oh._

“What project?” Peter asked. Dr. Banner was letting him watch, but he’d been scarce with the details. Peter tried to read the notes. He could always translate Tony’s project notes well enough, but Dr. Banner’s were so clinical, so technical. There was so much there that Peter had never even heard of. _Quantum Realm? Inverted mobius strip?_ This looked enough like physics, but Peter was missing key information. Tony would always help him understand, but Dr. Banner - wouldn’t.

Dr. Banner’s face was clouding. Maybe Peter shouldn’t have asked.

But to Peter’s surprise, Dr. Banner looked up and addressed the Falcon instead.

“We might as well tell him, Sam.”

The Falcon’s jaw dropped. “What? No!”

Wow. Way to talk like Peter wasn’t in the room. He would be offended, but his curiosity was piqued. “Tell me what?” he asked.

“Nothing that preschoolers need to know,” the Falcon said, then turned a firm look on Dr. Banner. “It was a unanimous decision, Bruce. No outsiders.”

“I’m not an outsider,” Peter butted in. “I’m technically an Avenger, you know. Mr. Stark said I was one before, well, everything with Thanos, and then the Blip, and...yeah.”

Dr. Banner smiled. It stretched awkwardly across his face. “There’s a bit more paperwork to it than that, Peter. Sam, can we talk?”

The Falcon clenched his jaw but nodded, and Peter shifted on the stool while the two stepped to the other side of the room. If they were looking for privacy from Peter, it was a shame that they didn’t seem to know too much about his enhanced senses. Peter refocused on the notes, pretending he wasn’t listening.

“He was on the battlefield with us, Sam,” Dr. Banner whispered. “He fought with us. You saw him - he was one of the people that carried the gauntlet.”

“There were a lot of people out there I wouldn’t trust,” the Falcon said. “Not with this. We all agreed - this is on a need-to-know basis, and that kid? He doesn’t need to know.”

A pit dropped in Peter’s stomach. That...stung.

“We don’t know how much longer he’s going to be staying here with us,” Dr. Banner said. “If we tell him about it now, then we can train him how to use it. If he knows how to use it, then he’ll know how to be safe with it. It’s a _huge_ safety risk if it’s mishandled.”

“It’s not going to _be_ mishandled.”

“You know, we said that about the Stones, too.” Dr. Banner sighed, rubbing his eyes with his good hand. “We’ve said that about a lot of things, actually. Technology with this kind of power, that’s not something we can keep a secret forever. People are going to find out. It’s inevitable. We might as well trust the right people before it really hits the fan.”

“Can we trust him?”

“Tony did.”

Something heavy settled over Peter’s shoulders. A cold feeling was stabbing into his chest. He needed to go. He couldn’t listen to this anymore. He shouldn’t have listened to any of it in the first place.

Peter jumped off the stool and beelined for the door.

“Peter?” Dr. Banner called.

“Just - kind of tired,” Peter said without looking back. “I think I’m gonna go lay down.”

They knew he was lying. Of course they did. But neither of them followed, and a selfish part of Peter wished they had.

His face felt hot, but his lungs felt tight and cold, making every breath hurt. He could hear his heartbeat in his ears. One foot in front of the other. He had to keep putting one foot in front of the other.

Of course Peter had known that the Avengers were keeping secrets. Too many things weren’t adding up. The general public and the media were still riding out the waves of hero worship after the Blip was reversed, and so nothing even vaguely anti-Avenger made it to the mainstream. But questions, _reasonable_ questions were popping up on internet forums. _They said Thanos was dead, how did he just come back like that?_ Or: _Where’s Captain America in all this? Where’s he been since Iron Man’s memorial? Just leaving us to clean up their mess?_ Or the question of the hour: _How did the Avengers even fix the Blip?_

No one knew. Not even Peter knew. But he trusted the Avengers.

So this was...embarrassing. And _infuriating._

Dr. Banner said it himself - Peter was on that battlefield with them. He carried the gauntlet, carried it so far out on his own that there was no one to protect him during that missile strike, no wizard magic shields or otherwise. Peter fought in their wars with them. He’d been to space, he’d punched Thanos in the face, he’d been turned to _dust-_

His hands were shaking.

Peter took a deep breath. He didn’t remember making it to his bedroom, but then the door was swinging shut behind him. His back pressed flat against the door. He slid to the floor.

He trusted the Avengers. He _trusted_ them.

Why couldn’t they trust him too?

Like Tony had?

Like Tony-

Peter missed Tony so much.

* * *

No one came to find him. That was just as well. Peter didn’t really feel like seeing them.

80’s movies couldn’t cure everything, but they were the best medicine for a sour mood. He tried watching one or two in the living room of the quarters. But the emptiness of the place without May was overbearing.

So eventually Peter found himself collapsed on the couch in HQ’s common room. It was after midnight and he was lying in a pile of popcorn crumbs, because he didn’t need his dignity.

The television was the only light in the room, casting a harsh glare against the darkness around him. A Delorean screeched across the screen. Marty McFly stood in its fiery wake.

Back to the Future. The last time Peter had watched it, Ned had been there to complain about hand-wavey science, and MJ had been there to criticize the normalized racism of the Johnny B. Goode scene. They hated the movie. Peter loved it, but...it wasn’t as good without them there to make fun of it.

He’d tinkered for a while, hoping to fill that void where his friends should be. It worked for a while, but now his web-shooters were abandoned on the coffee table, surrounded by a sea of blueprints for possible upgrades. Peter was basically just a potato now, staring listlessly at the television screen.

The Libyans came on the scene guns blazing.

“Racist,” Peter muttered in honor of MJ.

“Yeah, well, that was normal in the 80’s.”

Peter jolted upright, scrambling to pause the movie. He whipped around to see the Falcon a short distance behind the couch, looking all ominous in the dark just standing there with his arms crossed. Even with the only light coming from the television - scratch that, _especially_ with the only light coming from the television, Peter was suddenly aware of just how ridiculous he probably looked.

Forget that earlier thought. He needed his dignity. He needed it now.

Peter rushed to brush the popcorn crumbs off himself and ran his fingers through his messy hair. Then, he stood, trying for casual.

“Hey,” Peter said.

Even in the low light, the Falcon didn’t look impressed. “Hey,” he said anyway. “You staying out here much longer?”

“No,” Peter said quickly. “In fact I was just - let me turn this off. Sorry, I didn’t know you wanted the room-”

“Stop.”

And Peter did. He paused, remote in hand, Doc Brown on the television frozen mid-Libyan-murder. Peter could relate.

“I don’t want the space,” the Falcon said. “Just figured it was past your bedtime, was all.”

The sour mood was back in a flash. So much for all the work the past three movies did to help. Peter rolled his eyes. He was so tired of people trying to make him feel like a little kid.

The Falcon must have caught his frustration. He took a few steps forward, clearing some of the distance between them. After a moment, Peter looked at him. The Falcon looked back.

“You’re always first out of your room and last to head back in,” the Falcon said. Peter blinked. That wasn’t what he was expecting. “Do you ever sleep?” he asked, but there was no sting in his voice. Just something bordering concerned.

“I sleep,” Peter said. The Falcon looked unimpressed. “I mean, I sleep _enough,”_ Peter amended. He shifted his weight between his feet.

“I’m surprised you noticed,” Peter continued after a moment. “I thought you didn’t-”

_Like me._

He cut that sentence off before it had the chance to finish itself. Why did he say that? Why didn’t his brain filter that stuff out like everyone else’s did?

The Falcon seemed to get what Peter was going to say.

He was quiet for a long moment, and Peter thought maybe it would just be best for him to die in the awkward silence stretching between them. But then the Falcon sighed and shook his head.

“I don’t hate you,” he said.

Peter tried not to look as surprised as he felt. Judging by the Falcon’s face, he wasn’t too successful. The Falcon rolled his eyes, but the guarded expression softened a little.

“It’s not you,” he said. “Really. The world has changed a lot, and it’s like it doesn’t stop changing.”

 _Preach,_ Peter thought.

“Things were already... _different,_ after the Accords,” the Falcon continued. He was speaking slowly, carefully, like he was minding his words. “But after the Blip, we all came back to totally different lives. I’m still trying to figure out what normal looks like for me. I think that’s made me pretty resistant to change, because handling new people just doesn’t come easily to me anymore. But that’s not your fault. What I said earlier, that...that wasn’t fair.”

The Falcon stopped, and when the silence stretched on for a moment Peter realized he was expecting a response.

“Oh,” Peter said.

The Falcon quirked an eyebrow. _“Oh?”_ he asked. “I’m trying to have a heart-to-heart here, and all I get is _oh?”_

“I get it, I mean,” Peter said quickly. “Nothing’s been the same since coming back. Before the Blip, I was, like, so sure of who I was and who Spiderman was. But now, it’s like every time I figure it out again, something happens to flip everything upside down again, and it’s, I don’t know. I feel…”

“Stuck,” the Falcon said.

“Stuck,” Peter agreed. Lost. Drifting.

“You’re not the only one in here feeling like that,” the Falcon said. “Trust me.”

Maybe that was true. For the first time, the ice in Peter’s lungs started melting away. Maybe he wasn’t as alone in this as he thought.

“You like to run?” the Falcon asked.

Peter blinked, startled from his thoughts. “Uh, yeah?” he lied.

The Falcon smiled a bit and shook his head, like he could see right through Peter. “I run every morning,” he said. “You should join me tomorrow. It helps clear my head a little, and maybe a bit of fresh air would do you some good.”

It was an olive branch.

“Yeah,” Peter said, and he meant it. “Yeah, I’d like that. Thanks, Mr., um - Falcon.”

The Falcon rolled his eyes again. “Call me Sam,” he said, but it sounded warm. He clapped Peter on the shoulder. “No problem, pre-k.”

“Call me Peter.”

“No.”

“Okay.”

Sam actually laughed at that. A tension Peter hadn’t noticed uncoiled from his shoulders. _“Okay,”_ Sam repeated back at him. “Well, I’m not young enough to stay up all night anymore. Enjoy your movie, or whatever.”

“Good night,” Peter called after him. Sam waved without looking back, and then Peter was alone again in the common room, feeling lighter than he had in weeks. He stood in the darkness another few moments. Then, he jumped back on the couch and hit play. It was time to move forward.

* * *

Peter didn’t remember falling asleep.

But he was yanked awake by a blaring noise. Peter jumped off the couch. His socks slid on the tile, nearly toppling him to the floor. He looked around, confused. He was alone. The lights were off. The Back to the Future title screen was still on the television.

Then the room flooded with a red light, and Peter realized what he was hearing.

The alarm.

“Friday?” Peter asked.

_“An intruder has entered the east laboratory.”_

Dr. Banner’s lab. Peter snatched his web shooters off the coffee table and took off.

“How many people, Friday?” Peter called.

 _“Just one,”_ she said. _“Mr. Wilson and Dr. Banner are already on scene.”_

“Is he armed?”

_“Yes.”_

A solo armed intruder successfully infiltrated an Avengers facility. This was fine. This was great. Nothing to worry about.

At least May wasn’t there.

Peter burst into the lab and immediately had to cover his eyes. A blinding light was searing near the center of the lab. Streaks of color were rippling through the air. At the heart of it, Peter could just make out a large pad on the floor. It looked like something straight out of Star Trek. Full on _beam me up, Scotty._

True to Friday’s word, Sam and Dr. Banner were already there. But their focus was divided.

Dr. Banner was standing at some kind of switchboard. Even from a distance, it looked damaged. He had some sort of helmet on, with a white cranium and a glowing blue visor.

Finally, Peter’s eyes adjusted to the light. Kind of. Enough to function, at least. He found Sam just as the man got thrown back. Sam hit the floor hard and skidded. But he was back on his feet in seconds. He was wearing a helmet, too.

Peter rushed in. “You okay?” he asked.

“What are you doing here?” Sam asked.

“Helping!”

Peter finally saw the intruder. The uninvited guest was a behemoth of a man in a three-piece suit. Almost as big as Dr. Banner but without all the green. His dark beady eyes locked with Peter’s, and a snarl curled his upper lip.

“I thought he was armed,” Peter said, mostly to himself.

As if in response, the intruder pointed a cane at Peter. Peter rolled his eyes.

“A cane?” he asked, unimpressed. “How on brand-”

His sixth sense fired off. Peter dived out of the way. A streak of green light burst from the end of the cane, blasting through the empty air where he’d been standing. The light struck a wall. A small explosion rocked the room, knocking Peter to his knees.

“A _laser cane?”_ he yelled.

“Stay down, kid,” Sam called from behind cover. But he couldn’t get any closer to the intruder. Not with that laser keeping him pinned.

Sam couldn’t move. But Peter could get close.

He rushed the intruder, ignoring Sam yelling. His sixth sense triggered. _Go left._ He dodged left as a laser cut past. _Go low._ Peter ducked as another laser swept over him. In seconds he cleared the distance between them and caught a grip on the cane.

But before Peter could take it, the man kicked him in the gut. _Hard._

Peter didn’t know how far he’d been knocked back till he hit the ground and rolled. He didn’t land it as gracefully as Sam had.

Peter pushed himself back up, dazed. The intruder was moving for the Star Trek transporter. Peter shot a web grenade at his feet but knew it wouldn’t last long. Not with how strong he was.

How could the guy swat him back like a fly? Like yeah, the guy was super buff and about the size of a gorilla monster. But Peter could only think of three people who’d ever matched his strength before. Two supersoldiers and an actual alien titan. Getting thrown around like that? Not a normal day for him.

“He’s enhanced,” Peter said. He rolled behind cover next to Sam.

“Yeah, we figured that out already.” Sam shoved a helmet and a watch into Peter’s chest. “If you want to help, you need these on.”

“What is this?” Peter glanced out. The intruder was wearing a helmet, too. “And what’s that spazzing technology?”

Sam hesitated, then clenched his jaw. “A time travel machine,” he said. Peter rolled his eyes and waited for the punchline. It didn’t come.

Oh. _Oh._

“You’re not joking,” Peter said.

Sam shook his head. “Tony invented it,” he said. “It’s how they saved us. And _this,”_ he tapped the helmet in Peter’s hands, “is protective gear.”

Peter slipped the watch on. He shoved the helmet on, too. “What’s it for?” he asked. Time travel. Okay. Stranger things had happened. Peter could accept time travel.

“After a jump, this is how Bruce tracks us down to bring us back.”

Time travel PPE. Peter was wearing time travel PPE. Okay.

“What’s this guy want?” Peter asked. He peeked back out from behind cover. The intruder was taking the laser to the web grenade. They were almost out of time.

“He’s trying to time jump,” Sam said. “The rest we can figure out later. I go high, you go low?”

“Roger that.”

Sam leapt up and kicked off the work table. His wings snapped out and he launched up. The intruder kicked his feet free. The cane’s aim followed Sam up.

“Hey, ugly!” Peter yelled. He ran out and shot a web at the guy’s legs. The web latched but was cut almost immediately. Peter kept firing webs, trying to keep the intruder’s attention on those. The guy was strong and he had a laser - but if Peter could distract him long enough he could close the distance again. And this time, he’d be prepared.

Sam fell into a dive. Peter lunged.

Peter grabbed onto the cane. Sam’s feet connected with the guy’s face. The intruder dropped like a ton of bricks but kept his grip on the cane. Peter forced the aim upwards but got knocked down to his knees.

The sixth sense flared up. _Move._

But Peter ignored it. He couldn’t let go of the cane. Not with Sam this close.

It happened fast. The fist struck Peter in the back of his head.

Stars burst across his vision. He felt his whole body go limp. He smacked down on the dark granite. Through blurry eyes, Peter saw Sam turn from the intruder and reach for him.

The quick distraction was all the intruder needed. He kicked Sam hard in the ribs. Sam shot backwards and crashed against a work table. He didn’t get back up.

“Sam,” Peter gasped. He pushed himself to his hands and feet.

He’d messed up. This guy wasn’t as strong as Peter - he was stronger.

The intruder was moving towards the pad.

“Stop!” Dr. Banner yelled. With only one hand, he was struggling with the switchboard. “The calibration isn’t stable! You might not get to where you want to go!”

The man didn’t listen.

“Okay, Spiderman,” Peter whispered. He shook his head in a last effort to clear it, then jumped to his feet.

Both web-shooters fired and latched on to the intruder. Peter held on and braced himself. He tried to yank the intruder back, but the man was planted like a tree. The intruder took a struggling step forward. Peter dug his feet into the ground. He pulled as hard as he could. The intruder was beginning to slip back.

Peter took one step back, and then another. Slowly forcing the man away from the pad. He went to take another step back-

And his socks slid on the floor.

Peter hit the ground hard. The intruder dived onto the pad. Peter was dragged forward by his webs.

The bright light flashed and opened like a set of jaws. Peter was getting jerked forward - he scrambled for something to grab onto, but it was too late-

_Oh no oh no oh no-_

The whole world exploded like a star, then plummeted into darkness.


	3. Back to the Future

The alarm was still blaring when Peter came to.

The helmet hadn’t done its job. His head was pounding like someone had taken a sledgehammer to his skull, and Peter couldn’t honestly tell if it was from the intruder’s fist or the nasty fall he’d just taken. Every bleat of the alarm seared through his brain like fire. But at least that blinding light was gone now, bathing the room in soothing darkness.

Peter just lied there for a moment, willing the headache to go away, trying to get his bearings. He took a few deep breaths and pushed his hands against the helmet visor.

Then like lightning, something flashed in Peter’s head - an image of Sam falling, and not getting back up.

“Sam?” Peter yelled. He scrambled to his hands and feet, then froze.

Sam wasn’t there.

This...wasn’t Dr. Banner’s lab. This wasn’t even HQ.

It was still a lab, but Peter was in the heart of an atrium with vaulted ceilings. Moonlight streamed through the floor-length windows, painting the dark granite floor with stripes of light. The work table was decorated with old mugs and a mostly empty bottle of whiskey.

Movement stirred in the corner of his eye. Two small robots were trilling with alarm. Dum-E and U. Peter watched them - U flailing its only arm and Dum-E spinning in panicked circles - and tears pricked his eyes. They’d been gone for so long, lost with everything else, but there they were. There _Peter_ was. Everything looked exactly the way he remembered it, the details fresh from the mausoleum he’d built for them in his memories.

Tony’s lab.

In the Compound.

Which got leveled by Thanos almost a full year ago.

A cold feeling began trickling into Peter’s lungs, and he took a few deep breaths trying to force it out.

What was this? A dream? Hallucination? Did Peter’s head take a harder hit than he thought? The helmet should’ve been at least _some_ protection.

The helmet.

Peter reached up and touched it. Then he looked at the watch on the glove still wrapped around his hand. _Time travel PPE._

Peter stumbled to his feet.

The door burst open.

The silhouette of a woman stood in the doorway. Peter opened his mouth to say something - honestly, he had no idea how to even begin - but before he could even try, she was sprinting towards him.

His sixth sense triggered.

In the blink of an eye the distance between them closed. Peter jumped back, barely dodging the swing of her arm. A brief flash of light crackled at her wrist. A tazer?

There was no time to think. She was fast, relentless. Every missed strike followed by another. Peter finally managed to get her by the elbow, tugging her to a stop. Her pale eyes locked with his. This close, he was able to see her face.

Oh. _Oh no this wasn’t good-_

She grabbed him by the wrist - yanked him around, contorted his body - her knees locked around his face-

And then Peter was back on the floor.

 _Move,_ his sixth sense screamed. Peter rolled fast before the Widow Bite could connect. Without looking back at her, he got his feet under him and ran. He wasn’t winning this fight.

Ignoring his bruised ego, Peter scrambled up a wall out of her reach. He spun, almost losing his grip and narrowly avoiding a shot of electricity. He managed to catch himself at the last moment.

"Wait!” Peter yelled, his back against the wall. “Wait, I can explain!”

Natasha Romanov’s eyes reflected the moonlight, glinting like steel. She didn’t fire the Widow Bite. She didn’t lower it, either.

That was as good as he was getting, probably. Peter let out a shaky breath. “Okay,” he said. “Yeah, sorry, I just - I never knew you were so scary.”

“You’re obviously enhanced,” Natasha said, ignoring him completely. “I want to know how, who you’re with, and why you’re here.”

“Okay. Each of those questions - it’s a long story, maybe we could talk it out if you put down-”

A warning shot crackled by his ear.

“I got bit by a spider.”

The next shot wasn’t a warning. Peter jerked to the side and felt the heat of the electricity lick his ear. “I’m not kidding!” he said. “I got bit by a radioactive spider, and it - it changed my DNA!”

Natasha hesitated. “Like Spiderman,” she said.

Um. “Funny story,” Peter said. “Listen, I can - I can explain the rest, but you’re kind of stressing me out with that thing. Can we make a deal? Like, I tell you everything, you put it down, you know?”

“Or I could give you sixty seconds before I shoot again?”

“That works, too.” Peter floundered. “Have you ever seen that really old movie, _Back to the Future_?”

Natasha paused for a long moment, just staring at him.

Then she tazed him.

The sharp sting tore through him. Peter’s vision whited out. There was an impact as he hit the ground, but he couldn’t remember the fall.

Natasha was on him in a second. Television static still fogged the corners of his eyes, but he was able to roll out of the way. Every breath came like a wheezing rasp, like his lungs were as dazed as he was.

Peter struggled to his feet. His muscles didn’t want to stretch enough to support his weight.

“That hurt,” he gasped.

“I’m surprised you’re still standing,” Natasha said, and it almost sounded like a compliment.

But then she was charging again, forcing Peter back. The burn in his muscles was already fading, but he was still slow. Natasha kept pushing forward, but she let him keep the distance between them.

She had a plan. She obviously had a plan. Peter tried to blink the spots out of his vision enough to focus, to figure out what was going on.

He felt like a sheep being herded.

“Wait, wait.” Peter stumbled back into the atrium of the lab, and to his surprise, Natasha stopped. She watched him take a few more steps back but didn’t advance. “This is a misunderstanding, the biggest misunderstanding in history. I can explain. I _am_ Spiderman, I’m…” He yanked the helmet off and let it drop to his feet.

Natasha’s eyes went wide.

“My name’s Peter Parker,” he said.

Her eyes shot to the floor near his feet.

Peter’s own voice echoed in his head. _Tony’s lab used to have a trap._

It happened all at once. Peter’s sixth sense screamed but it was a split second too late. A charging sound swelled in his ears, then-

The world exploded into light. His muscles went tight - his body seized - the shock ravaged through him -

Peter never remembered hitting the ground.

* * *

Everything came back slowly and disjointed, like wading through a thick fog. Awareness trickled through the cracks of the darkness. The first thing Peter felt were his arms. Maybe _felt_ was too strong of a word; they were numb, heavier than they should have been, and raising a hand took nearly all his strength. He groaned, the noise fuzzy and distant in his ears.

Something stopped his hand from moving any further. Something...something was locked around his wrist. A restraint?

Something stirred in the back of Peter’s mind. He struggled to crack his eyes open, and through his blurry vision he could see that he was handcuffed to a hospital bed. He was in the medbay.

“Awake already?”

Peter blinked. Turning his head was a colossal effort, but after a moment he was able to focus on the people he hadn’t noticed sitting by him. Natasha Romanov was easy enough to recognize. Now that they were in the light, Peter could see just how tired she looked. Peter could relate.

It took Peter far too long to recognize the other person - Steve Rogers, Captain America, in the flesh.

“Oh,” he said. His tongue felt clumsy in his mouth. “Can’t feel my fingers.”

“You experienced a severe electric shock,” Captain America said like Peter didn’t already know that. “You’re still recovering. Honestly, I’m surprised you’re already talking.”

“Not the worst I’ve had.” The more his head cleared, the easier it became to string together sentences. Pins and needles pricked his arms and legs. Peter tried wiggling his toes only to find that he couldn’t feel them, either. “Got hit by a train once. Like, a month ago.”

“You’re pretty casual for someone who just got caught breaking into an Avengers facility,” Natasha said.

“We want to help you, son. But you need to tell us what’s going on and what you were doing in our lab in the middle of the night.” Captain America was gentle, almost concerned. Like he actually cared about Peter.

Peter didn’t buy it. He’d seen too many PSA’s. “Are you good cop, bad copping me right now?”

Captain America actually _frowned_ at him.

“Jeez, tough crowd,” Peter muttered.

“Who are you?” Natasha cut in.

“Peter Parker. Spiderman.” His arms were getting easier to move. He gestured vaguely at Captain America, as much as the restraints would allow. “Fought you in a parking lot once.”

On second thought, maybe he shouldn’t be bringing that up right now.

“Peter Parker has been dead for three years,” Natasha said. Her eyes were sharp despite how worn she looked.

“Three years?” Peter did the math. “It’s 2021?”

Of course Peter knew he must’ve gotten dragged through the Star Trek teleporter when the intruder jumped. It was the only way to explain Dum-E and U, the Compound lab, the Black Widow being very much alive. But the confirmation was jarring. Peter sank back against the bed, squeezing his eyes shut when the world began to spin.

He wanted a PSA for this. _So. You’ve accidentally gone back in time._

“Yes,” Captain America said, slowly, confused. “It’s 2021. April.”

 _“Spring?”_ Peter took a deep breath, ignoring the look that the two Avengers traded. “Sorry. It’s just - an hour ago, it was fall. 2023.”

A thought struck him. Peter wasn’t wearing the helmet. The glove was gone, too.

Natasha must have noticed him looking. She leaned forward, and for the first time Peter noticed something in her hand - the glove. “Back to the Future,” she mused out loud. “Time travel? Is that your story?”

“Y-yeah. Hey, um, can I have that back? I kind of need it.”

“You can,” Natasha said, _“if_ you can prove to us that you’re Peter Parker.”

“Okay. How can I do that?”

“When did you first meet Tony Stark?”

An ache twinged in Peter’s chest. He remembered the first time he’d seen Tony Stark in person - Stark Expo 2010, the Iron Man suit gleaming under the stage lights, one hand raised in reception of the thunderous applause, when the man was still more of an icon than a person to Peter. When he was still being chased by the ghost of a weapons dealer, before the ghost of a Mad Titan started.

But that wasn’t what Natasha meant.

“Um, I was - I was fourteen. It was right before I…” Peter cringed. He looked at Captain America and muttered, “…fought you in a parking lot.”

But Captain America had a soft light in his eyes. “Fought?” he asked. “You were doing a lot more talking than fighting, Queens.”

“Very funny,” Natasha said. She looked back to Peter. “Adrien Toomes. What happened the night he was arrested?”

“The official story-”

“I didn’t ask for the official story.”

Natasha led him through several more questions, and with every answer Peter could see her shoulders relaxing and her eyes opening. Captain America watched silently, like he already believed what Natasha was struggling to.

“I think that’s enough, Nat,” Captain America gently interrupted when she asked Peter something about the MoMA field trip the day the world ended. “Friday already ran the DNA test, anyway. It’s him.”

For a long moment, Natasha’s eyes stayed on Peter, wide and uncertain and…almost hopeful. She nodded slowly and reached forward to slip the glove back on Peter’s hand.

“How?” she asked softly.

“How?” Peter echoed back to her, confused.

“How are you here?” Natasha clarified. “You were taken in the Decimation. Tony - confirmed it.”

The Decimation. That was what they called the Blip before everyone came back. It was probably the better word for it, actually. Peter thought about Titan, watching Dr. Strange and the Footloose guy and his friends all crumble into dust, feeling himself chip away atom by atom, breaking apart and being helpless to do anything about it. _Decimated._

Something light and cold fluttered in his throat.

“Um.” Peter pulled at his restraints. “Can I - can I get out of these things? I really - can I get out of them?”

Captain America was quick to undo them. Peter leaned forward and took a few deep breaths, trying to force the fluttery thing back down. He’d been doing a pretty good job of not freaking out lately - and if he was going to break, it wasn’t going to be in front of Captain America and the Black Widow.

“You guys brought us back,” he explained, anything to get his mind on something else. “I don’t know a lot of the details, but Sam told me Mr. Stark invented time travel, and that’s how you saved us.”

“Sam?” Captain America asked.

“Yeah - Sam Wilson. The Falcon, sir.”

Captain America nodded and locked eyes with Natasha. “Okay,” he said after a long moment. “What brings you here then, Queens?”

“Anything to do with Wilson Fisk?” Natasha asked.

“Wilson Fisk?”

Natasha reached for the tablet on Peter’s bedside table and handed it to him. Peter squinted at the screen. It looked like security footage, time stamped in the late afternoon. It was a frozen still of a man in a three-piece suit, standing in Tony’s lab, gripping a cane. “You’re not our first visitor,” Natasha said. “This man triggered the alarm, but the Compound was empty at the time. There was no one to stop him from walking out the front door.”

“We came up to investigate,” Captain America added. “That’s when you showed up.”

“When was this taken?” Peter asked.

“About ten hours ago,” Natasha said.

“Ten hours?” Peter shook his head. “No, I - this guy, he broke into our lab. We tried to stop him, but he got to the time travel machine thing and jumped in. I was trying to stop him. With my webs, you know?” He gestured at his bare wrists. “But it was too late and I kind of...got sucked in, too? But I went through right after him.”

“Well, you landed ten hours later,” Captain America said. He leaned forward and tapped play. The footage rolled forward, showing the intruder’s helmet dissolve back into a kind of collar, like nanite technology. He was a bald-headed, beady-eyed guy with a bit of an ugly mug. With a face like that, he was doomed to become a supervillain.

Peter watched as the intruder tossed off the glove and helmet and marched out of the camera’s periphery. “You said his name was Wilson Fisk?” he asked. He’d never heard the name before.

“Also known as Kingpin in New York’s underworld,” Natasha said. “He was a local mob boss who dealt almost exclusively in alien technology. He took over Toomes’s territory a few years ago.” Peter handed the tablet back to her. She dropped it back on the table and offered something else to Peter - a collar, like the one Fisk’s helmet had turned into. “Kingpin was a notorious name in New York until the Decimation.”

Peter slipped the collar over his head. “He got blipped?” he asked. At their blank stares, he hastily added, “That’s what we call the, um, Decimation. The Blip.”

“Blip?” Captain America muttered, visibly confused.

“His wife and son were there to confirm it,” Natasha said. “They both survived. He didn’t.”

“Oh.” Peter knew what it felt like to come back to a world that had moved on without him. No matter what kind of person Fisk was, Peter could empathize. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Do you know why he wanted to come back?” Captain America asked.

Peter shook his head. “No, everything happened so fast. I didn’t even know the guy’s name.”

Captain America nodded, like he expected it. “That’s alright,” he says. “We’ll figure this out, and we’ll make sure both of you get back to where you belong. Can you stand?”

The fogginess was cleared from his head, and Peter could finally feel his fingers and toes. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and tested his weight against them. His knees felt a bit weak, but nothing too bad. “Yeah, I’m good,” he said.

Captain America whistled. “You have a healing factor, huh?” he asked.

“Yeah. It’s pretty handy.”

“Yes, it is.” Captain America clapped a hand on his shoulder. “It’s late. We should get you to a room.”

“You’ll be staying with us as long as you’re here,” Natasha added. “Seeing Peter Parker _or_ Spiderman right now would raise some eyebrows.”

“But you’ll have access to most of the Compound,” Steve assured him, already turning and heading towards the door. “As much as I assume you have in...2023.” He said the year like he still couldn’t quite believe it.

Peter wondered if he should tell them that the Compound got blown sky high before he ever stepped foot back on earth. Maybe that was a conversation best saved for later.

Steve was just reaching for the door when it swung open on its own.

“Spangles, so nice to see you.”

Peter froze.

Frost lined his lungs; every breath was cold and strained. Everything felt like it was happening too slow and too fast all at once.

Peter didn’t know how to handle this. He didn’t - he didn’t know -

He hadn’t thought about this. Despite everything, despite Dum-E and U and the Compound and the Black Widow, Peter hadn’t even thought to expect this.

Captain America was blocking the doorway, but Peter could see a set of designer dress shoes stopping right in front of him.

“Listen,” Tony Stark said, “I know I’m not _technically_ an Avenger anymore. But I still manage this place, I still consult for you, so don’t you think, maybe, I don’t know. I should’ve been _consulted_ when not one but two intruders break in on the same day? And Miss Romanov sent one of them to the medbay? Friday had to tell me. C’mon, I’m hurt.”

Captain America tried to stop him. He reached out, tried to derail Tony, tried to distract it. But Tony dodged him with practiced ease, strutting past him.

He looked exactly the way Peter wanted to remember him - before the snap, before the cosmic energy ravaged his body, before he was just a scarred body in a casket. Tony was in a full suit, hair gelled, iconic goatee sharp and freshly shaved. Gray was beginning to leak into his hair, and Tony was letting it; some lines were set a little deeper in his face, but his eyes were sharp and bright. He was smiling - joking with Captain America.

Before Peter could help it, tears were pricking his eyes and running over.

“So what do we have here?” Tony asked, finally facing forward.

He froze mid-step.

Tony’s eyes locked on Peter, and maybe Tony didn’t know how to handle this, either.

The air was silent, too thick to breathe, too heavy to do anything but stare. Tony opened his mouth only to close it again. His gaze swept up and down Peter’s frame, like he had a puzzle in front of him and he was trying to figure out how to make it make sense. Something was beginning to fracture in his eyes.

“Tony,” Captain America said. He reached out, a gentle hand resting on Tony’s shoulder. “Tony, please-”

Tony shook the hand off. “Peter?” he asked softly.

“Hey, Mr. Stark,” Peter murmured, voice cracking. He didn’t know what else to say.

It was enough. Tony closed the distance between them in quick strides. In the next heartbeat, Tony pulled Peter forward, arms locking around him in a bone-crushing embrace. It felt like the one from the battlefield, and it _hurt,_ it hurt so badly, taking the dull ache that had nested in his ribcage and blowing it wide into an open chasm.

But Tony’s head turned slightly, nose pressing into the hair just above Peter’s ear. And Peter could hear the man’s breath staggering, could hear his heart pounding in his chest. Alive. _Alive._

It was selfish. But as much as it hurt, Peter had been wanting this for so long.

So he let himself melt forward and threw his arms around Tony.

“How?” Tony asked. “How - how are you here? You... _you…”_

“Tony, stop,” Captain America’s voice cut in. The man sounded so tired and pained, and the reality of the situation slammed back into Peter. He wasn’t the Peter that belonged here. He wasn’t the Peter that Tony wanted.

Mortified, Peter stumbled back. He couldn’t be doing this. He _couldn’t._ But Tony’s hands followed, taking Peter by the shoulder and fisting in the fabric there. Peter was panicking, he knew he was panicking but didn’t know how to stop. He needed help. His eyes flicked to Captain America.

 _“Tony.”_ Captain America raised his voice, and finally Tony turned to look at him.

“What?” he asked. His hand stayed on Peter.

Captain America’s mouth opened, but no words came out. He took a deep breath and said, “This isn’t the Peter you know.”

Tony shook his head slowly. “What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked. His face twisted, a chaotic assembly of emotion, and he and Captain America both looked to Peter.

Peter didn’t have the words. He didn’t know how to be the one to do this. “Back to the Future,” he whispered and couldn’t follow it with anything else.

Tony narrowed his eyes in confusion, something dark beginning to creep into his expression. “What?”

“Time travel,” Natasha inserted when it became clear that no one else was going to, and Peter had never been so thankful. “He _is_ Peter, Tony. He’s just from 2023.”

Tony’s hand snapped back from Peter’s shoulder like he’d been burned. There were only a few inches between them, but it felt like miles. “This is a joke,” Tony said, but his voice was bitter like he knew it wasn’t. “This - this isn’t _funny,_ this-” He looked back to Peter, and Peter felt pinned by the gaze. “Pete. Kid.”

Peter didn’t know what to do. He didn’t know what to do, he didn’t know - he squeezed his eyes shut, like not seeing them would make everything better. “She’s telling the truth,” he forced out before he could chicken out. “I - I don’t know all the details, but...the Avengers invented time travel to save everyone, and-”

“What’re you doing here, then?” Tony was beginning to sound angry. Almost dangerous.

Peter scrambled to save the situation. He didn’t know if he could handle Tony being angry with him. Not now. Not after - everything. “Someone broke in, and - me and May, we’ve been staying with the Avengers lately, so I was there - and he tried to steal the time travel technology or something. I actually don’t really know what he was after-”

Tony’s face was looking darker and darker the longer Peter talked, and - Peter was rambling, he was talking too much. Peter struggled to cut himself off, to just get to the end of the story. “I tried to stop him. We both fell through, and...now I’m here.” He held up his glove. “Waiting for Dr. Banner to get me back.”

Peter met Tony’s eyes for a flash of a second. He hated the way Tony was looking at him, but he didn’t know how to fix it. “I missed you,” he said softly, earnestly.

Tony turned away from him. “Has anyone bothered to verify his story?” he asked, moving back towards Captain America and Black Widow. Peter stayed frozen to the spot.

“I did,” Natasha said. “I asked questions and had Friday run DNA tests. He’s an exact match for Peter Parker.”

That wasn’t enough for Tony. Peter knew it wouldn’t be. Tony whipped around and stabbed a finger towards Peter. “How’d we kill Squidward, then?”

Peter stuttered, caught off-guard by the question. He knew that he played an active role in the alien’s death, and maybe the guy deserved it, but...it didn’t sit well with Peter. It always made him feel sick. “We Sigourney Weavered him,” he murmured after a moment.

“Okay, and on Titan. Who disappeared first?”

More tears were beginning to burn Peter’s eyes. His hands were shaking. _Disappeared. Decimated._

“The - the girl with the antennae. She never told me her name.”

“And who disappeared last?”

“I did,” Peter said. He rubbed his hands over his face. Not dust. Not dust.

A pressure was swelling inside him, and he didn’t know how to make it stop. “What else do you want from me?” he burst out. “The Squidward guy nabbed Dr. Strange and you told me to go save the wizard. So - so I tried, and then you had to give me the Iron Spider suit because we were too high up. And we saved the wizard but then that really weird guy who liked Footloose showed up with his friends-”

“Stop,” Tony cut in, turning away again. Peter’s mouth snapped shut so quickly his teeth clicked.

Tony’s shoulders sagged, like the fire inside him turned to smoke. He sounded tired. “Fine. Okay.” He didn’t sound fine or okay. “I need a minute.”

Then he was marching toward the door. Captain America stepped aside to let him.

The pressure imploded. Peter moved like a puppet on a string, darting forward without thinking. He couldn’t let Tony out of his sight. It was stupid, it was irrational - but what if he never came back? What if he was gone for good?

“Wait, Mr. Stark,” Peter called. Captain America caught Peter by the waist, jerking him to a stop. “Wait, wait, let me go. Mr. Stark, hang on!”

Tony grinded to a halt, and the look he gave Peter silenced him immediately. Captain America’s hand moved to Peter’s shoulder, and Peter didn’t know if it was meant to hold him back or be comforting.

“Just stop,” Tony snarled. Peter had never heard him sound like this. “You’re not...you…” He shook his head and turned away. “I’m too sober for this.”

And like that, he was gone.

Natasha spared a glance at Peter before following after him.

Peter stood there, cold and empty. He’d hurt Tony. He’d hurt him so badly, and he didn’t think there was a way to fix it. More tears spilled over, and suddenly Peter realized he was crying in front of Captain America.

Despite everything, a hot embarrassment flooded his face. Peter turned away, scrubbing furiously at his eyes. Captain America’s grip stayed steady on his shoulder before the man clapped it and took a step back, allowing Peter room to breathe. Still, he stood near, his presence steadfast.

“You’ll be home soon, Peter,” Captain America said softly. “Before you even know it. Bruce is one of the smartest people I know, and if Tony’s there too-”

“He’s not,” Peter croaked.

Peter could feel Captain America’s eyes on him. Peter glanced back at him, and he saw the realization dawn in the supersoldier’s eyes. A brief surge of panic hits Peter.

“I mean, he’s-” The words clog in Peter’s throat. He couldn’t bring himself to lie about this.

Captain America nodded slowly, grappling with the knowledge. But quickly, he refocused on Peter, and his eyes softened. “I’m sorry,” he said, and he sounded like he meant it.

“So am I,” Peter murmured. He took a shaky breath, refusing to get emotional in front of Captain America again. “Listen, I - I don’t know the right thing to do, with how much I tell you guys. I don’t know if it would help or - or just ruin everything, because I don’t even really know _how_ you guys saved us. So...I…” He shrugged, not really knowing how to continue.

Still, Captain America seemed to understand. “I don’t know if that’s a secret I can keep,” he said.

“For now at least, can you?” Peter asked. “I’m sorry, I know that’s such a huge thing to ask, but at least until I can...figure stuff out?”

Captain America watched Peter for a long moment, and Peter could practically see the gears turning in his head. Finally, the man nodded. “For now,” he promised.

Peter sagged in relief. “Thanks.”

“I know what it’s like to be a man out of time,” Captain America offered.

That was true. But unlike Captain America, Peter knew he could get taken back at any moment. Despite everything that had happened since he’d gotten here, Peter hoped he had at least a little more time.

Seeing Tony...hurt. But it struck a chord in Peter, one he hadn’t even realized was there. Peter wanted to figure this out. He wanted this universe to become one that Dr. Strange hadn’t seen on Titan - one that defeated Thanos without sacrificing Tony. Even if Tony hated him as he was right now, even if it wouldn’t change anything in Peter’s own time-

At least this once, he wanted to save Tony.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will be comfort, but first there will be hurt.


	4. Launching Operation: Save Mr. Stark

Peter woke from a restless sleep and stared blankly up at the ceiling.

He was in the same room he’d fallen asleep in - his old room at the Compound. So he was still in 2021.

Peter looked at the glove, and the dark face of the watch looked back. Dr. Banner hadn’t brought him back yet, but the switchboard had been broken. There was no telling how long it would take to fix it, or how fluid time was running - after all, Peter had jumped right after Fisk and landed a whole ten hours later. Maybe what seemed like minutes to Dr. Banner would be days to Peter. Or weeks.

A selfish part of him was disappointed. It had only been a few hours, but Peter missed May. But another part of him was relieved to still be in 2021. Operation: Save Mr. Stark was still a go.

But Peter needed more information if he had any chance of success. He needed answers to the questions everyone had been asking since the end of the Blip, chiefly what happened with Thanos. Thanos never should’ve been on that battlefield if he’d been killed five years prior.

Which meant Peter had to find out what really happened when the Avengers found Thanos after the snap.

“Friday,” Peter called, “is - is Mr. Stark still here?”

_ “Yes, Peter,” _ came the AI’s prompt reply.  _ “He’s currently in the conference room with Captain Rogers, Miss Romanov, and Dr. Banner.” _

“What are they talking about?”

_ “Currently, you.” _

That wasn’t a surprise. If Tony was a part of it, Peter didn’t want to know anything else about the conversation. Not after last night.

The man had looked at him like he was worse than a stranger, like he was a  _ mistake. _

Peter shook his head, like that could dislodge the memory.

It was still early, but Peter wasn’t going to be able to go back to sleep. Before the spider bite, Peter would’ve stayed in bed anyway, enjoying a lazy morning scrolling through his phone or watching Netflix. But that was before he was blessed with a six pack he didn’t have to work for and a crazy metabolism. A buzz was already prickling his bones, a restless energy prompting him to  _ move, move, move. _

So Peter pushed himself out of bed and got ready to face the day.

It was kind of awkward, staying in a room that was his but not his, digging through the drawers for clothes that were really just memories now. None of this existed in Peter’s timeline. Not anymore.

Peter pulled out an old threadbare sweater, gray and well-loved with a small hole in the armpit. It used to be Peter’s favorite. It used to be Ben’s.

A thought flickered in the back of his mind. Peter could take this back if he wanted to.

But there was a Peter that belonged in this universe, and he’d miss it just as much.

For old time’s sake, Peter pulled it on anyway. He pulled on an old pair of jeans, fixed his hair, and brushed his teeth. Peter paused, staring at the toothbrush. It was Spiderman themed, with his mask stamped at the bottom of it. This...Peter had never owned this. Someone had used it to replace his old one.

The Peter from this universe should’ve been the first one to use it. It was kind of silly, but Peter couldn’t help the pang of guilt.

Aside from that, nothing else had changed. Peter’s room was exactly the way he remembered it. Which meant…

Peter rushed to the nightstand and yanked open the drawer.

Ben’s old pocket watch caught the light and beamed at him like an old friend.

Peter stumbled back to the bed, pocket watch clutched in his hand like it might fade away at any moment. His room had been perfectly preserved - his clothes and drawers all in the same order, the bed made and the corners dusted, even the toothbrush being swapped out when the other one got too old. Like someone was still expecting Peter to need it. Like someone was still expecting him to come back.

Peter never knew. He’d never gotten to see the Compound again, never got to see how meticulously someone had been holding onto him.

Someone. His brain kept supplying the word like he didn’t know exactly who it had been.

Pepper always looked at him like she’d known him for ages. Morgan latched onto him like he’d been there all her life.  _ I’ve seen pictures of you. Daddy had one. _

_ Do you miss him? _

Peter closed his eyes, held the pocket watch to his ear, and listened.

_ “Peter?” _

The voice jerked him out of his thoughts. Peter scrambled to wipe the corners of his eyes, trying to compose himself even if the rational part of him knew Friday didn’t have the capacity to judge him. “Yeah, Fri?” he asked as he slipped the pocket watch into his pocket.

_ “Captain Rogers has requested your presence in the kitchen.” _

The kitchen? Captain America - Captain Rogers? - wasn’t in the meeting with the others anymore?

“What for?” Peter asked, moving to the bathroom to splash some cold water in his face. The tears never fell, but he definitely looked like he’d been crying. That was the last thing he needed Captain Rogers to see.

_ “I informed him and the others that you were awake and asking about them.” _

Peter choked on the swig of mouthwash he’d taken. He quickly spat it out and stared at the ceiling in bewilderment. “Why would you do that?” he asked, mortified.

_ “Captain Rogers requested that I update him on your condition.” _

“Is it just Captain Rogers?” Peter asked hesitantly. Half of him was desperate to see Tony again, but the other half was shying away from the idea. Not just because of everything that happened the night before, but...it didn’t sit quite right, trying to bond with this Tony after the other died on a battlefield to save Peter. It felt weird. Almost like a betrayal.

_ “Dr. Banner is with him also,” _ Friday supplied as Peter drifted into the hall.

Sure enough, Peter found Captain Rogers and Dr. Banner waiting for him in the kitchen. Peter must have walked in on the middle of a conversation, because the room cut to silence when he came in.

Dr. Banner didn’t look anything like Peter was expecting. Peter never met the man before the Blip, and he didn’t know when Dr. Banner decided to settle on a permanent Hulk hybrid existence, but it obviously wasn’t prior to 2021. The man in front of him now was all human - or maybe half-human, half-shadow. Dr. Banner’s hair was a mop of curls falling into his face, his jaw was dark with five o’clock shadow, and the dark bags under his eyes hinted that he probably hadn’t been sleeping too much better than Peter.

But those eyes were the same. They were dark and intense, curious and sharp, focused on Peter with a kind of curious surprise.

Dr. Banner didn’t move like Peter was used to, either. He moved quickly, so sure of his body and its limits, completely absent of a pain that might never fade.

For the first time, Peter was realizing exactly how much Dr. Banner had lost.

“They weren’t kidding,” Dr. Banner breathed, eyes skimming over Peter like a fascinating specimen. “You - you’re really-”

A small grin split his face, and Dr. Banner held out a hand. “Peter Parker, it’s good to meet you. I’m Bruce Banner.”

“It’s good to meet you, too,” Peter said, shaking the hand. “I - I mean, I already technically know you, but I guess you don’t know me? And this is the first time I’m meeting - this version of you, so, yeah!”

Peter had made it awkward. He could feel it by the change in the air, the shift in Dr. Banner’s expression. “It’s nice to meet you,” he backtracked. He winced.

_ Nice save, Parker, _ he thought in a voice that sounded a little too much like MJ’s.

Thankfully, Dr. Banner was kind. “I’m sure this is a lot to process,” he said. “I’ve been told you’re waiting on future-me to bring you back.”

“Yeah. You - he, uh, has to fix the machine first, though. Fisk broke it.”

And hopefully something hadn’t gone very, very wrong. Captain Rogers must have read the look on his face, because he spoke for the first time since Peter came in. “We wouldn’t just leave you stranded,” he said. “You’ll be home soon.”

It was becoming a familiar reassurance from him.

“But you being here, it means a lot,” Dr. Banner added, half-absent. Peter wasn’t sure how to respond, or even if Dr. Banner was expecting a response. The man looked lost in thought, like he was only lending one ear to the conversation.

Thankfully, Friday saved him.  _ “Dr. Banner, your presence is requested in the conference room,” _ she said, and the light snapped back to Dr. Banner’s eyes. His face shifted, eyebrows furrowing and lips screwing up into a frown.

“Okay,” he said, suddenly sounding tired, and this was the side of Dr. Banner Peter knew better. The classic  _ I’m getting too old for this _ personality. The man trudged from the room like each foot weighed a ton.

“Enough shop talk,” Captain Rogers said lightly, and for the first time Peter noticed that the counter was full. Skillets, egg cartons, mixing bowls, flour - it looked like someone was prepping for a party. “You hungry for breakfast, Queens?”

Just the thought of breakfast seemed to wake Peter’s stomach. It growled like a lion, startling Peter, and Captain Roger’s lips tightened like he was trying not to laugh. “Sure,” Peter said, trying to recover at least an ounce of his pride.

Captain Rogers looked at Peter like he could see right through him. “I’ve heard a lot about Spiderman in the past few years,” he said, turning to the counter and reaching for the flour. “Your metabolism is like mine, isn’t it?”

“Yeah. I burn calories like they’re nothing.” Peter wandered forward. “Is there anything I can help with?”

“You know how to scramble eggs?”

“Yeah! At least, mostly.” Peter ignored the side-eye Captain Rogers shot him, already hopping forward to grab the eggs. “How many eggs should I make?”

Cooking breakfast was a surprisingly quick process for the amount of pancakes Captain Rogers managed to whip up. It was a small mountain - just the way Peter liked his carbs - and it looked and  _ smelled _ delicious. For a moment Peter and Captain Rogers just stood back and admired the work, complemented by the pile of scrambled eggs and bacon.

“Should we tell the others that breakfast is ready?” Peter asked.

Captain Rogers hummed. “There’s not enough for the others.”

“Wait,” Peter said as Captain Rogers started carrying the pancake Mount Olympus to the bar counter. “This is just for us?  _ All _ of it?”

Captain Rogers shot him a quick smile. “It  _ might _ be enough for both of us.”

Peter jumped up onto a bar stool, smiled at Captain Rogers, and was suddenly hit with a lighter kind of grief. He wished he could’ve met, like,  _ really _ met Captain Rogers in his own time. But it just never worked out, between the Accords and the Blip and Captain Rogers’s subsequent disappearance off the face of the earth after Tony’s memorial.

Peter only had three personal experiences with Captain Rogers - Germany, detention PSAs, and the time the supersoldier had saved his life.

The memory came back too easily. War had been raging around him, screams in his ears and fire licking the edge of his vision. The gauntlet had been heavy in Peter’s arms, but he clung to it as he went down in a swarm of aliens. Instant Kill Mode hadn’t been enough - Peter hadn’t been enough. He didn’t remember what he’d said, but he remembered the sound of his own voice, the panic as he begged for help when he realized he couldn’t get away.

For a sharp, terrifying moment, Peter had been convinced that no one would come. No one could. They were all fighting for their own lives and the lives of the entire universe.

But then Captain Rogers’s voice had rung loud and clear through the comm.  _ Hey, Queens. Catch. _

Captain Rogers saved his life, and Peter never got to thank him. And now, Sam and Dr. Banner talked about him like he was gone forever.

“Thanks,” Peter blurted without thinking. “For - for everything.”

Captain Rogers looked up, expression still light until he saw Peter’s face. He paused, eyebrows furrowing. “It’s no problem,” he said after a moment. Then, “You want syrup?”

“Only psychopaths don’t like syrup.”

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

The pancakes were gone too soon, may they rest in peace. Peter practically inhaled his half of the mountain, shoveling forkfuls of eggs and bacon in between every bite. He usually didn’t wake up this hungry, but then again he usually didn’t spend his nights getting knocked flat by mob bosses and super spies, or getting shocked unconscious. There was a lot his body needed to replenish.

“Thanks for breakfast,” Peter said, halfway to a food coma.

“Thanks for the company,” Captain Rogers said. He hesitated for a moment, thinking, before he added, “I’ve heard a lot about you, you know.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Captain Rogers said. He chewed on his words another moment, absentmindedly beginning to stack his empty plates before reaching for Peter’s. “There in the beginning, there were a lot of nights when Tony wouldn’t speak to me, or any of us. But when he would? It was always about you. He’d tell anyone willing to listen about you.”

Peter didn’t know how to respond. Again he thought back to his room in the Compound, and how openly Pepper and Morgan had taken him into their home. He swallowed. “Oh,” he finally rasped.

Captain Rogers turned away with the dishes, and Peter was grateful for the moment to compose himself.

“All I mean to say is, don’t worry about last night,” Captain Rogers said. “Tony cares a lot about you. That’s what makes this so hard for him - for both of you.” He set the dishes in the sink but didn’t turn back to face Peter. “That’s what you should remember about him - how much he cared about you.”

“Oh,” Peter echoed, then shook his head. “I - I mean - thanks. Thank you. For that. It means a lot, Mr. - um, Captain Rogers.”

Captain Rogers finally turned and quirked a smile. “Captain Rogers? You’re starting to sound like Friday.” And speak of the devil.

_ “Captain Rogers, Peter, your presence is requested in the conference room.” _

Immediately, something turned over in Peter’s stomach. The conference room, where Tony was.

“Sure thing, Friday,” Captain Rogers said. He gestured for Peter to join him, and like his feet were made of lead, Peter did. “It’s Steve, by the way.”

“Steve,” Peter squeaked. For a moment, he forgot all about the anxiety churning in his gut - because he was on a first name basis with  _ Captain America. _ Ned was going to freak out.

It turned out, Peter was nervous about nothing. The conference room door swung open, and Tony was nowhere to be found. Neither was Dr. Banner. Natasha was alone, sitting cross-legged on the table, staring at the papers scattered in front of her. She only offered them a quick glance when they walked in.

“Fisk is moving fast,” she said before either could ask. “He’s already been spotted with some of his men.”

Natasha held out a hand, and Friday’s holographic system materialized in front of her. She swiveled it so they could see a security footage still, time stamped less than an hour ago. A small group of men were ducking into an alley. Fisk was unmistakable.

“Any indication of what he’s after yet?” Steve asked.

“Nope,” Natasha said, popping the p. She slid off the table in a quick, graceful move, kind of like a jaguar in one of the nature documentaries May and Happy loved to watch. “We’ve sent SHIELD agents to all of his old haunts.”

“Let me guess. All abandoned?”

“Whatever Fisk is trying to do, he’s not relying on old tricks,” Natasha said. “He’s managed to rally together some of his old crew, but we haven’t been able to track them, either. They all fell off the radar between last night and this morning.”

“He’s not wasting a minute.”

“No. What I’m interested in, though…” Natasha tapped play. The video was barely more than a few seconds - Fisk turned, saw the camera, and raised his cane. The feed cut to static a split second later. “...is that cane.”

“The laser cane,” Peter whispered.

“Laser cane?” Steve asked.

“Yeah. He had it when he broke in last night. It blasted, like, bright green lasers, like you see in a sci-fi movie.”

“It’s alien technology, Fisk’s signature weapon,” Natasha said. “The only problem? It’s currently in one of SHIELD’s weapons lockers. It was confiscated after the Decimation.”

“He broke into SHIELD?” Peter asked, almost impressed. Was SHIELD even a physical location? Peter had always kind of thought that his experience with SHIELD was all there was to it - shady people in sunglasses and trench coats hiding in various caves and safehouses. They wouldn’t tell Peter anything about SHIELD even when they dragged him into it.

“He got it somehow,” Natasha murmured. She traded a long look with Steve before leveling her gaze at Peter. “Last night, you sounded like time travel was pretty new to you. When did you find out about it?”

“Um.” Peter rubbed at his neck. The collar pressed into his skin. “Literally last night. After Fisk had already broken in, I asked what was going on. Sam gave me the quick version.” He thought back to the conversation in the lab between Sam and Dr. Banner. “They said they were trying to keep it a secret from everyone.”

“How did Fisk find out about it?” Steve asked.

“Did SHIELD know?” Natasha added.

“I’m sorry, I really don’t know anything about Fisk,” Peter said. “About SHIELD, maybe? We had some guy show up not too long ago saying he was from a different timeline, and Mr. Fury didn’t look too surprised about it? No one looked surprised. It turned out the guy was lying anyway, but - everyone just took him at his word.”

A thought struck Peter. “Wait,” he said. “You don’t think there’s a leak, do you?”

Steve and Natasha shared another look.

“No way! You guys totally think there’s a leak.”

“We can’t know that,” Steve said, raising a hand towards Peter. “But Natasha and I have...some unique experience when it comes to SHIELD internal affairs.”

“Whoa, what does that mean?” Peter couldn’t help the excitement bubbling up as the possibilities circled around in his head. He pictured it - Captain America and Black Widow tracking down a hacker with top secret information, or trapped in a custodian’s closet as the facility got overrun by terrorists. Or maybe they discovered that sleeper spies infiltrated SHIELD to topple it and the American government -

Or maybe Peter and Ned had been reading too many comic books.

“It just means that there was a lot of paperwork,” Natasha offered, which explained nothing but only spurred on Peter’s theories. “But that does nothing to help us with this.”

Steve shook his head. “Why would he want to steal time travel technology?”

Peter squinted at the frozen image of Fisk, cane aimed dead at the camera, almost like he was pointing right at them. “I - I don’t know if he wanted to steal it,” he murmured. Both Avengers’ eyes snapped to him. “I mean, I guess, he broke it, you know? He set the controls to where he wanted them to be, and then he broke it so no one could mess with it.”

“So he didn’t want to steal it,” Natasha said.

“He just wanted to use it,” Steve finished. He flipped through the papers on the table. “Is there anything here that might indicate why? Why he chose now?”

“Nothing substantial.” Natasha shook her head. “Peter, thank you for your time. Feel free to go around the Compound as you usually would.”

Peter knew a dismissal when he heard one. “Oh. Uh, yeah, no problem! Just, um, let me know if you need me again.”

“We’ll have Friday tell you.”

“Cool, cool.” Peter turned to leave the room but hesitated. A wild stroke of boldness hit, and, well, it was now or never. Peter mustered up his courage and turned to face the two. Their concentration was already shifted, tunnel visioned to the documents spread across the table.

Peter cleared his throat. “Hey, quick question.”

Steve looked up, like he was surprised that Peter was still there. “What is it?”

“Um.” Peter shifted his weight between his feet, and after a moment Natasha raised a curious eye. “What actually happened to Thanos?”

A heavy silence settled over their shoulders, and part of Peter wished he’d never asked. “He’s dead,” Natasha finally said.

“Yeah, but - is there any chance that he wasn’t actually? Like, maybe you guys just thought he was dead, but-”

“There was no mistaking it,” Steve interrupted, and Peter knew he wasn’t lying. “He’s dead.” There was a beat of silence, then, “Why?”

Peter remembered that day, seeing the figure in the distance, the Titan in gleaming armor. There was no mistaking him.

“No reason. Uh, thanks! Call me if you need me.”

Peter ducked out of the room and all but ran down the hall. How could Thanos have been alive on that battlefield if he’d been killed five years earlier? Steve and Natasha could have been lying, just feeding Peter the official story that they’d given to everyone else for years, but they seemed like they were telling the truth.

Peter was missing something. If Thanos was well and truly dead, then he never should have been on that battlefield. Something happened to get him there. If Peter could figure that out, then maybe he could figure out how to keep it from happening altogether.

The image of Fisk in the alley crept over his thoughts. Did Fisk choose 2021 because there was something special about it, some opportunity he wanted to take?

Or was he like Peter? Trying to prevent something that never should have happened?

Shaking it off, Peter marched towards the lab. Walking the halls of the Compound almost felt like being in a museum now, full of ghosts and memories that belonged to someone else. It was hard to enjoy it when his thoughts were running a mile a minute.

Whatever Fisk had planned, Peter didn’t want to be caught off-guard. All the web fluid he had were the two canisters already equipped, and they were both half-empty from the fight with Fisk. Peter was going to need more, even if he was pretty sure Tony wouldn’t appreciate him mucking around in the lab.

But what Tony didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him. He’d left before Peter had even finished breakfast.

Peter shouldered open the door to the lab and was slammed by a wall of heavy metal music.

A figure was bent over the work table, and almost immediately it snapped up to face him.

Tony was in jeans, his hair mussed and out of place, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. A smear of oil ran down his face, his hands dark to match. The man was elbow-deep in a project Peter didn’t recognize, but he withdrew as soon as their eyes locked, stepping back and crossing his arms. For a long moment Tony stared down into the machine - deep into its chest, broken up for all the world to see - before finally looking back up at Peter.

Neither spoke. Neither knew what to say.

Peter swallowed, shifting his weight between his feet. “This isn’t Led Zeppelin.”

Tony’s brow furrowed. Before he could ask, Peter pushed on, “When we first started doing lab days, and they were starting to feel less weird, you, uh...you let me use the aux cord. You let me play my music. But we only got, like, two songs in, remember?”

Tony turned away from Peter, flipping on a sink to scrub his hands. “I remember,” he said, distant but not dismissive. Like he was holding himself at arm’s length.

“Yeah,” Peter said, a little emboldened. “You really didn’t like my music.”

“It was objectively terrible.”

“It was  _ fine. _ But you said, what was it-”

“That your aunt had failed you.”

“Right.” Peter remembered it so vividly, like a filter superimposed over his memory. They’d been in this same lab, at that same work table, with Peter’s textbooks mingling together with Tony’s project notes. “You said she failed me, but someone had to teach me about good taste and culture, and it...it might as well be you.”

Tony didn’t say anything, but he didn’t have to. “You told me it was Led Zeppelin,” Peter said, gesturing above them as the music blared in his ears. “I never even questioned it, but it’s...it’s Black Sabbath. Happy told me.”

Peter had realized the moment Happy told him the truth, as soon as he knew that Tony had lied to him, that it must have been a joke. A harmless prank. But Tony never got to see the punchline.

After a moment, Tony sighed. “Friday, turn the music off.” He turned off the sink and looked at Peter, the room cutting to silence around them. “What are you doing here?”

There was still a distance between them, a no man’s land. But Tony wasn’t lobbing grenades anymore, and he wasn’t running, either. Peter would take what he could get.

“I’m low on web fluid,” he said.

Tony shook his head. “No, you’re not. You have reserves here.”

“Yeah, but that’s years old by now. All those canisters are probably expired-”

“You have a fresh reserve.” Tony reached for the machine again despite his clean hands, picking at it like he couldn’t stop himself. “Made it this morning, threw all the old junk out and replaced it. You know where to find it.”

“Oh.” Peter glanced at the clock. It wasn’t even quite noon, and Tony had already been in a meeting with the others when Peter had woken up. How long had the man been at the Compound?

Had he even gone home last night? Peter thought about Pepper and Morgan in the cabin, how they were struggling to fill the emptiness Tony had left, even if they tried to hide that from Peter. Guilt nagged at Peter. He didn’t want to drag Tony away from his family.

“Thanks,” Peter said anyway, not sure what else to say.

Tony grunted noncommittally and made a show of turning away to gather scraps of paper off another counter. He busied himself for a moment, then paused, like he only just noticed that Peter was still standing there. Peter knew Tony well enough to see right through the show. A bitter taste filled his mouth.

“Is there anything else you’re needing?” Tony asked.

“Um - uh, no-”

“Because I’m kind of in the middle of something here.”

“Yeah, no, I’m fine-”

“And I work better alone.”

Peter snapped his mouth shut and nodded. “Right.” He reached behind him, feeling blindly for the door knob. “I’ll just-”

“Thanks.” Tony gave a tight smile. It didn’t reach his eyes.

Peter finally yanked the door open, his legs numb like the nerves had melted and puddled at his feet. But before he could leave, Tony called out again.

“Hey.” Peter whipped around to face him. Tony didn’t look up from the machine, his eyes glued to the cavity in its chest. “What I said about Squidward last night...wasn’t necessary. His death - it’s not on you.”

Peter paused. Whatever he’d been expecting, that hadn’t been it.

“Y-yeah,” he said after a moment. “Right.”

“I’m serious. He made his decisions, and it forced our hand. You only did what you had to do. We all did.”

“I know,” Peter said. “Um...thanks, Mr. Stark.”

Peter didn’t know how to tell Tony that Squidward wasn’t the only person he’d helped to kill. The battlefield raged in Peter’s mind, the nameless aliens and beasts that threatened to overwhelm him, willingly activating Instant Kill Mode. Beck on the bridge, even if that hadn’t been intentional. They all weighed on Peter - all the people that were gone because of him.

But thankfully Tony let Peter slip out of the room without another word, the door clicking shut behind him. Peter took a few steps when a light flicked on in his head.

It felt like a dream, a memory half-forgotten. A detail Peter had never bothered to pay attention to.

Yes, Thanos had been there on that battlefield. But there had been a figure beside him, much smaller than the Titan, but holding himself with an air of importance. Peter had been so focused on Thanos that he never gave the other alien a second glance.

But one look was all it needed.

_ Squidward. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit of a slow chapter, but hopefully things should be picking up soon ;)


	5. Keeping Ghosts for Company

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late update! Real life caught up to me, and this chapter kept giving me trouble. But thank you guys for all the sweet comments and support! They did a lot to keep me motivated on this. ❤

The next morning, Peter found himself in the gym.

Gym was maybe too light of a term for it. It was built for a full team of superheroes, and it looked the part - the auxiliary room alone was roughly the size of a football stadium, with a cavernous ceiling where early morning sunlight streamed in through a skylight.

Peter fidgeted with his web shooter, switching the old canister of fluid for a new one. One canister was usually enough to get Peter through a night of patrol, maybe two if it was busy, but he’d already burned through three. But Tony hadn’t been lying - a fresh reserve was prepped and waiting in Peter’s old storage locker. Peter could stand to waste a few.

With the new canister secured, Peter stuck to the wall and climbed.

The auxiliary wasn’t like the rest of the gym - what little equipment it had was shoved against the wall, and there was plenty of open space for Peter to swing around.

Tony was always scarce with the details, but Peter knew the auxiliary had been designed with the more aerial Avengers in mind. He reached the ceiling beams and looked down, trying to picture what it must have been like in the glory days.

Sam and Vision flying around, the Scarlet Witch levitating or using her weird glowing magic, Iron Man and War Machine at leisure before the Accords stole all their time together.

After the Accords, Peter was the only one who got any use out of the auxiliary. Sometimes Tony, if it was a good day.

But most of those days were like today, with Peter swinging alone.

Alone wasn’t a bad thing, though. He hadn’t been out swinging since Beck and the Daily Bugle effectively ruined his life. The auxiliary wasn’t the same as having a whole city full of skyscrapers, too quiet without the traffic or Karen chattering in his ears or the constant churn of life that came with big cities.

But he’d missed the weightless feeling of being in the air, the adrenaline rush of swinging from web to web.

He missed Spiderman.

Even if he didn’t know how to be Spiderman anymore.

But now wasn’t the time to worry about 2023 and what that meant for Spiderman. 2021 had its own problems.

The conference room had a full house right now - Tony, Steve, Dr. Banner, Natasha, and even Colonel Rhodes showed up.

(“Now they’re just missing Hawkeye and Thor,” Peter had joked when Friday gave him the attendance list.

 _“They all miss Thor and Mr. Barton,”_ Friday had replied in all seriousness. Peter hadn’t known how to respond.)

But while they were trying to figure out Fisk and the next course of action, Peter’s thoughts were bent towards Thanos.

They’d launched Squidward into space full Alien style. Peter remembered watching his body frost over, seeing his eyes go dim, and _knowing_ that he was dead. There was a long list of things that kept Peter up at night, but watching Squidward die and knowing he had a part in it was easily near the top, no matter what Tony said.

Dead men shouldn’t have been on that battlefield. Squidward shouldn’t have been there any more than Thanos, or the stones that were supposedly destroyed right after half the universe got dusted.

Peter remembered the stones clearly, how the gauntlet gleamed in the dying sunlight that managed to filter in through the black mass in the sky. He hadn’t questioned why he had to get the gauntlet to Scott Lang’s van, or why a blinding light was coming from the van, sending streaks of vivid color through the air.

Just like the Star Trek teleporter.

 _A time travel machine,_ Peter remembered Sam saying. _It’s how they saved us._

The Avengers hadn’t been expecting that battle. It had followed them - and the stones - from the past. It had to have. Peter just had to figure out how to keep that fight in its own timeline, and maybe that’d be enough. Maybe Tony wouldn’t have to die.

 _“Peter,”_ Friday called, and Peter swung himself to a wall and stuck.

“Yeah?”

_“Your presence is requested in the conference room.”_

Peter groaned. He didn’t want to leave yet. “Do I have to?”

_“I’ll check for you.”_

“Wait, no, that’s not what I-”

_“Captain Rogers kindly insists.”_

Peter dropped to the ground and combed his fingers through his wind-swept hair. His clothes were a bit sweaty, but there probably wasn’t enough time to grab a change of clothes from his room, and there definitely wasn’t enough time to hit the showers.

So Peter resigned himself to his fate - presenting himself to the Avengers looking and smelling like a sweaty teenager.

If they noticed, they had the decency to ignore it.

“Hey, Queens,” Steve said as Peter came in. Everyone was scattered around the broad table, sat back in their chairs like they’d been there a while. “Good morning.”

“Good morning,” Peter echoed back. Natasha nodded a greeting, Dr. Banner flashed a quick smile, and Colonel Rhodes just stared like he was having an aneurysm.

Tony didn’t even look up. He was draped in his chair, sunglasses shoved over his face, the dictionary definition of blase if it weren’t for the tension in his shoulders.

“I really thought you might’ve been lying,” Colonel Rhodes said to no one in particular.

“Come take a seat.” Steve offered the empty chair next to him.

Peter slid into it. “What’s going on?”

“Since you and Fisk showed up, Natasha’s been on the streets gathering intel,” Steve said. “Word’s gotten around quick that Fisk is back. Natasha’s been spreading rumors that his family lied and he’s just been in hiding these past few years. We'll just have to hope that it sticks.”

“But now we know what he’s looking for.” Natasha reached out, and Friday’s holographic projector flared to life beneath her hand. She swiped, and the screen turned towards Peter.

It was a photograph. Fisk was prominent, a hulking figure in a three-piece suit, the cane in hand, holding himself with power.

Next to him was a slight woman, dark curls framing her face, her expression soft even without a smile. Her hand rested on a boy’s shoulder.

“Vanessa and Richard Fisk went into hiding after the Decimation,” Natasha said. “With Fisk gone, gangs were killing each other trying to take over his territory. Many of Fisk’s own men defected and joined other gangs. About a year ago, someone broke into Fisk’s estate with the intention of killing Richard, according to police reports.”

“After that, they dropped off the map,” Dr. Banner added. “Apparently no one’s seen or heard from them since. Not even the guys who stayed loyal.”

Peter stared at the photograph, eyes falling to Richard. He couldn’t have been older than ten or eleven, but in a suit with his hair slicked back he didn’t look much like a kid. Dark eyes stared back at Peter.

Richard Fisk looked too tired for a kid.

“And now Fisk is trying to find them?” Peter asked after a moment, passing the projection back to Natasha.

“He’s tearing up New York looking for them,” Natasha said.

So Fisk crash landed in 2021 and started searching desperately for his family. “Are they the reason he came back?” Peter asked.

“Too soon to say,” Steve said. “But it’s what he’s focused on right now.”

Peter thought of his own family - all that was left of it. The crossword puzzle with May already felt like a lifetime ago.

May was technically dead right now in 2021. So were Ned and MJ.

Peter tried not to dwell on that.

“So what do you need me for?” Peter asked, then cringed. “I mean - why did you call me here? Is there anything I can do?”

“One part of it is to keep you in the loop, so to speak,” Steve said. “You’re already a part of this, so it isn’t right for us to leave you out of it.”

Tony grunted like he disagreed, his first contribution since Peter walked in. Peter frowned at him, but Tony still wasn’t looking at him.

Maybe they had a vote on telling Peter. Maybe they’d argued like Sam and Dr. Banner had the day Fisk showed up, and based on Tony’s reaction they probably had. The memory of Sam and Dr. Banner’s fight stuck with Peter, and he remembered missing Tony, wishing they’d trust him like Tony did.

But maybe Peter was wrong. Maybe Tony hadn’t trusted him.

The thought stung.

“Um.” Peter blinked, prying himself from his own thoughts. “What was the other part?”

Peter didn’t miss the look Steve cast at Tony.

“You might not be an Avenger,” Steve said, and for once Tony made a noise of agreement, “but we wanted to make it clear that we’re not barring you from this. Whatever the next step is, however we move forward, you’ll be moving forward with us. If you’re willing.”

It took a moment for Peter’s brain to catch up. He was being asked to tag along on an Avengers mission - a formal mission, not some parking lot brawl where he was brought in last and sent home first.

Yeah, Peter had already fought beside them - had even kicked Thanos right in the face - but this felt different. This wasn’t a necessary recruitment.

This was an _invitation._

_This was the coolest thing that had ever happened._

“Yeah!” Peter said. “Yeah, no, I - I’m more than willing. Totally willing.”

Steve smiled. “Glad to have you on board, then.”

Peter smiled back. He turned to Tony and immediately felt like all the air had been punched from his lungs.

Tony’s sunglasses were off. He was glaring at his watch, like he had better places to be. “Congrats, kid. Welcome to the big leagues.”

“Mr. Stark, I-”

“I’m not making you another Iron Spider suit.”

It felt like a punch to the gut. But then Tony probably meant it to be.

“But I’ll make you a different suit since Spiderman can’t be running around New York right now. Let me know what you want. I’ll leave a suggestion box outside the lab.”

“Tony, lay off,” Dr. Banner murmured.

“Lay off?” Tony raised his eyebrows at Dr. Banner, playing dumb. “What? I’m just trying to be prepared.”

Peter scoffed, and Tony shot him a glare.

“Got something to say, pint-size?”

“That’s not what you thought last time,” Peter muttered.

Tony’s eyes narrowed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Tony,” Colonel Rhodes started, but Tony yanked away when Colonel Rhodes reached for his shoulder.

“No,” Tony snapped. He squared his shoulders and glared at Peter. “What do you mean, _last time?”_

“Nothing,” Peter said, face hot.

“Oh, no, you obviously have something you want to say. Please. I’m _listening.”_

“It’s _nothing,”_ Peter seethed as Steve said, “Tony, stop antagonizing-”

“You don’t get to tell me what to do, Captain. Say it, Peter. Spit it out.”

_“Tony-”_

Everyone was talking. Their heated voices were overlapping - Colonel Rhodes trying to talk Tony down, Steve trying to intervene - Dr. Banner and Natasha stepping in to de-escalate everything - and Tony just _poking_ and _jabbing_ at Peter, ignoring everyone else around them. The noise twisted into chaos in Peter’s ears, swelling and overwhelming the small space. Everything was too loud and too much and Peter felt like a live grenade.

He exploded.

 _“You_ made the decision to go to Titan!” Peter yelled. “We weren’t ready for Thanos, but that didn’t stop you then!”

The room cut to silence.

For a long moment, nobody moved. Nobody breathed. But then Dr. Banner’s hands started to flutter nervously. Natasha had gone gray, and Steve sagged. Colonel Rhodes closed his eyes like he was bracing for impact.

Tony’s expression cracked. Something dark and miserable painted across his face in broad strokes, and for the first time Peter saw his own grief mirrored back at him.

“Is that what you really thought of me?” Tony asked in a low voice.

“I’m sorry,” Peter said. “I - I’m so sorry, Mr. Stark, I-”

A low rumble stirred beneath their feet.

That was the only warning they got before the alarm started blaring.

 _“Intruder detected in the lab,”_ Friday called.

Steve and Natasha were off like a shot. Colonel Rhodes and Dr. Banner followed, but Tony and Peter stood there for a long moment, frozen, just staring at each other.

Then Tony’s face darkened. He turned and left without looking back.

Peter hesitated another moment, then ran after them. He outpaced Tony easily. He purposely didn’t look at him as he passed.

Peter whipped past Dr. Banner and Colonel Rhodes, leaping down the stairs to the sublevel, and skidded around a corner. The door to the lab was already wide open. Dum-E and U’s panicked screams echoed down the hall, and Peter could just barely make out Steve and Natasha on the other side. They weren’t moving.

“What’s going on?” Peter called. He skidded to a halt between them, looked down the main aisle of the lab, and froze.

A lone figure stood in the atrium dressed in nothing but pajamas and socks, a set of wings extended out behind him.

All the color was drained from Sam’s face as he stared back at them - at Steve and Natasha - and he stayed mounted to the spot like a statue. Peter heard the others rushing in behind them, but one after another they staggered to a halt, the room hushing around them. Even Dum-E and U settled into silence.

Finally, Sam’s eyes locked on Peter’s.

“Pre-k,” he croaked.

Peter finally took in a breath. “Yeah, yeah, it’s me,” he said, pushing past Steve and Natasha. Some of the tension drained out of Sam, and he let Peter grab him by the shoulder.

“You okay?” Sam asked.

“I’m fine,” Peter said. He planted himself between Sam and the others, trying to keep the man’s eyes on him. Crash landing in the lab had been a bad shock for Peter, and seeing Tony so soon after - confronting the face of his grief with no warning - had broken him.

Sam was breaking. He wasn’t even trying to hide it.

“What about you?” Peter asked, trying to find an anchor for Sam. He could hear the others shuffling out the door, and relief washed over him when he heard the door click. Sam probably needed a minute without literal ghosts staring back at him. “I saw you take a bad hit. You didn’t get up, and I got worried, man.”

“Fine,” Sam said, his voice distant like an echo. He blinked, shaking his head. “Where’s the guy?”

“The guy?”

“Yeah, the - the bald dude. With the lasers.”

“Oh. His name’s Fisk. Wilson Fisk.” Sam shook off Peter’s hand, and Peter let him go. “I haven’t seen him since he broke into HQ.”

“Since he...?” Sam cut himself off. He was starting to shake, a dark look on his face. “Peter. How long have you been here?”

“Two days. I got here the night before last.”

Sam scrubbed a hand across his face, turning away from Peter. “Great. Great.”

“Sam-”

“You got dragged in, I got up and followed.” Sam whipped back around to face Peter. “It was ten seconds max. But - _two days?”_

“I’m okay. It’s okay-”

 _“It’s not okay!”_ Sam yelled. He thrust an arm towards the door. “You mind explaining _that_ to me?”

“Fisk sent us to 2021,” Peter said, his hands beginning to shake. He pressed a thumb against the face of the pocket watch and felt it tick. “The blip hasn’t been fixed yet.”

 _“2021,”_ Sam gasped. He paced, each step like thunder as he stomped down the aisle of work tables. One of his wings caught a beaker, knocking it to the floor where it shattered, scattering into a constellation of glass at his feet. Sam glared down at it for a long moment, before something in him snapped.

Peter just watched, helpless as Sam swept his arm across the table, sending papers and beakers flying across the dark granite.

Dum-E and U trilled nervously. Peter set a hand on U, giving its arm an absent pat as Sam destroyed another table. Sam turned and kicked a stool over. A yell tore from him, and Peter _felt_ it, the grief and rage pouring from the man until there was nothing left to give.

Like the anger had been the only thing fueling him, Sam slumped onto a stool, sagging forward till he was leaning against the work table. He shrugged off the wings, letting them drop to the floor.

Peter slid onto the stool next to him. “You alright?” he asked, then cringed at his own stupid question.

Sam thought for a moment. “No,” he said.

“You wanna talk about it?”

“No.”

“Okay.”

Silence stretched between them until Sam sighed and sat up straight. “I wasn’t expecting to see them,” he admitted. “Steve, Tony, and Nat, all at once. All we need is Vision, and it’d be the full graveyard.”

Peter hadn’t really known the others, but Sam...

Sam was grieving all of them.

“But Captain Rogers didn’t die,” Peter said after a moment.

“No,” Sam agreed. “No, he didn’t.” That didn’t seem to make him feel better.

After a moment, he tilted his head towards Peter. “I’m sorry it took so long for me to get here,” he said.

“Don’t be. I fell in right after Wilson Fisk, but I didn’t land until, like, ten hours later. Dr. Banner said the time setting wasn’t stable, so I guess everything’s a little weird because of it.” Peter picked at a loose thread on his sleeve. “Thanks, though. For coming. I was starting to get kind of worried.”

Sam gave him a tired smile. “Don’t mention it.”

“How long do you think we’ll be here?”

“Hard to say. Fisk didn’t set it up for a round trip before he smashed the controls, so Bruce has to bring us back manually. But don’t worry. I know Bruce, and he won’t stop till he gets us back.”

Peter nodded. Silence settled between them, with Peter not quite knowing what to say and Sam not offering anything. Then, Friday’s voice echoed through the lab.

_“Is now a good time to interrupt?”_

Sam straightened up and glanced up at the ceiling. Peter was relieved that he wasn’t the only one who felt self-conscious in front of an impartial AI. “What’s up, Friday?”

 _“I’ve synced with your cellular device,”_ Friday said, and Sam fished the phone out of his pocket. _“I can see several reports with future dates on your device. They all relate to Wilson Fisk.”_

Peter’s eyes widened. “Really?”

_“It’s protocol for me to gather and send information on current threats to all relevant Avengers.”_

“Wait,” Peter said. “Are you saying I’m not relevant-”

“She’s saying you’re not an Avenger,” Sam said. He ignored the look Peter shot him, showing his phone to the neighborhood vigilante instead. “It’s all here. SHIELD reports, newspaper articles, everything on the guy since he got blipped.”

“Anything from 2021?” Peter asked Friday.

_“A single event, dated tomorrow.”_

Which made sense. Like everyone else, Fisk had already been dead for three years at this point. No matter how famous of a crime boss he was before, he could only stay relevant for so long.

How long had Spiderman stayed relevant?

Peter tried not to think about it. “What’s going to happen tomorrow?”

_“Sourced from the New York Post: ‘Two people were killed and at least three more were injured in a crash in central Queens.’”_

Peter winced. There was no way he could have been there to stop it, but he hated hearing about these things in his own neighborhood. Spiderman was New York’s hero, but Queens - Queens was his home.

_“‘The incident occurred early in the morning during rush hour traffic. A woman and her son were driving through an intersection when they were struck by a tractor trailer. The driver of the tractor trailer was taken to the hospital along with two pedestrians in serious condition. The woman and her son, identified as Vanessa and Richard Fisk, were pronounced dead at the scene.’”_

Ice drained down into Peter’s chest. “Fisk?” he asked quietly, and Sam let out a deep sigh.

_“‘Police are still investigating the incident, though preliminary information suggests that distracted driving could have played a role in the crash. More information will be released as it becomes available.’”_

“Distracted driving,” Sam muttered. “What? Texting and driving?”

_“Later reports seem to indicate that that was the case.”_

“They’re his wife and son,” Peter said, turning to Sam. The family photo was burned into his mind, Vanessa’s soft curls and kind eyes, and Richard, tired and so young. Too young. “That’s why Fisk came back. His family died, and he’s just - he’s just trying to save them.”

“We need to tell the others.”

“We have to help him,” Peter said without thinking, then paused as the words caught up to him. Wilson Fisk was one of the most notorious crime bosses in New York. He’d broken into HQ, damaged their tech, and tried to kill them when they got in his way.

But Peter knew what it felt when someone was standing between him and saving someone he loved. And he knew what it felt like to lose.

Peter reached into his pocket and grabbed Ben’s watch. He took a deep breath and felt the steady _tick, tick, tick_ thrum against his fingers, and he knew what to do.

Peter locked eyes with Sam.

“We have to save them.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story idea was heavily influenced by Into the Spider-Verse. I loved the movie and the concept, so I slid it sideways into the MCU, lol.


	6. The Promise of Tomorrow

Peter had Friday call everyone to the conference room. Sam didn’t follow Peter there, and Peter didn’t blame him.

All heads snapped up when Peter opened the door.

Tony wasn’t there.

“So what’s going on?” Steve asked. “Where’s Sam?”

“Sam needs a minute,” Peter said.  _ I can’t look at them right now, _ were his exact words.

“Don’t we all,” Steve mumbled.

“Are we expecting any more time travel house calls?” Colonel Rhodes asked. “Because one is crazy enough, but now we’ve got three counting the mob boss.”

“No, Sam should be the last,” Peter said. “I wasn’t even expecting him, to be honest, but it’s good he came. When Fisk broke in, Friday identified him and sent a bunch of information to Sam’s phone, and now Friday-” Peter gestured upwards. “I mean,  _ this _ Friday has that.”

Friday’s holographic screen flickered to life with a projection of the newspaper article. “See, look at this. It’s dated for tomorrow,” Peter said. “There’s going to be a car crash tomorrow morning, and it’s gonna kill Fisk’s wife and son.”

“That’s why he’s been looking for them,” Dr. Banner said.

“But he still hasn’t been able to find them,” Natasha murmured. She looked up from the table, her eyes razor sharp. “Which means he’s going to go to the one place where he knows they’ll be.”

“He’ll be at the crash site tomorrow,” Steve said, coming to the same conclusion. “It’ll be his last chance to save them, which means we’ll have to be there to stop him.”

“Stop him?” Peter asked. A cold feeling seeped into his bones. “Wait, we’re not going to let him save them?”

“We’re not going to let him make contact with them,” Steve corrected. “They’re the only ones who saw him get...blipped, I think is what you called it. They can’t see him now.”

“Then what are we going to do?”

“He can’t save them. But we will,” Steve said, resolute.

Dr. Banner frowned, his hands fidgeting on the table in front of him. “I know this will sound bad, but...is it really our place to intervene like this?” he asked. “The last time we tried to play god, Sokovia got wiped off the map.”

“This isn’t like Ultron,” Steve said. “When we have the chance to save someone, we have an obligation to take it.”

“If that’s what we’re doing, that means our attention will be divided,” Colonel Rhodes said. “We’re going to need two separate teams - one to stop the crash and one to take on roid rage Mr. Clean.”

“You’re right.” Steve turned and locked eyes with Peter. “Peter. How well do you and Sam work together?”

Peter blinked, startled. “Um. Pretty well, I guess. We’ve only had to do it, like, once-”

“Great. Friday, pull up a map of Queens.” Steve tapped on the projector screen, and the crash site highlighted. “Keep an eye on the security cams in this area and send us an alert if you get a face match for Wilson Fisk or any of his followers. Bruce, can you stay here and monitor the situation for us?”

Dr. Banner huffed a mirthless laugh. “You mean sit this one out? Sure, I can do that.”

“Thanks,” Steve said softly, almost apologetic. “James, Tony, Nat, and I will canvas the area. We’ll be the ones to engage Fisk when we find him. Peter, that leaves you and Sam to stop the crash.”

Peter nodded. “Alright.”

A memory flickered in the back of his head. Tony on that battlefield, his arms locked around Peter in the brief respite, his hand warm on the back of Peter’s neck. And then Tony collapsed in the wreckage, like a puppet with its strings cut, fading. Fading. Gone.

Peter’s mission to save Tony - to keep that battlefield from ever having existed in the first place - was the same as Fisk’s. And sure, Peter didn’t know how to save Tony. He didn’t know how to save Vanessa and Richard, either, because none of the news reports listed a time of the crash, what kind of car they were driving, or even what company the tractor trailer was with. It was going to be like finding a needle in a haystack.

But failure wasn’t an option. Not for Fisk. Not for Peter.

“We just have one problem,” Peter said. “I can just get a new suit, but what are we going to do about Sam? He can’t be seen, either.”

Steve looked up with a hint of a smile. “I have an idea.”

* * *

“I hate this.”

“Suck it up, Starscream. It’s not that hard.”

Sam leveled an unamused look at Tony. Peter had to smother a smile.

They were back in the auxiliary. This morning felt like an eternity ago, with the skylight barely lit up by the orange glow from the setting sun.

Natasha had gone back to the streets to monitor any activity, in case Fisk managed to find his family overnight. Steve, Dr. Banner, and Colonel Rhodes were plotting out squares of the neighborhood for each Avenger to canvas, and tackling possible strategies. Sam and Peter had been dismissed to the auxiliary to wait for Tony.

Now, Sam was in full Iron Man regalia and bickering with Tony.

Tony had made some quick modifications to make the suit more Falcon-friendly, but they both still seemed to be stumbling through the learning curve.

Peter watched Sam lift off the ground. After more than an hour of practice, he’d gotten that part down pretty well. (The first few attempts had sent him pinwheeling through the air, and Tony had loved every second of it. He almost looked vindicated.) And Sam was a quick learner. The Falcon was a natural in the air, and the Iron Man suit was just a new way for him to fly.

But there were other things Sam was struggling with. Sharp turns were becoming an apparent struggle; every time he tried, Tony and Peter would have to watch Sam smack into a wall.

“One more time,” Tony called.

Sam huffed in frustration but shot off like a rocket. Peter watched him, fingers crossed. He knew how to work with Tony in the Iron Man suit, but even if the technology was the same, Peter had to learn how to work with Sam as the driver.

They were supposed to be training together. But before Peter could start working with Sam, Sam had to learn how to work with himself. So, Peter was benched for the time being.

Peter was buzzing with energy, charged by the anticipation of tomorrow’s mission, and he tried to work some of it out by jogging laps or going a few rounds with the punching bag in the corner of the room. But it got boring fast, and then the anxiety set in. What if he couldn’t save Vanessa and Richard? What if he couldn’t save Tony?

What if he failed?

So now Peter was trying to distract himself by focusing on Sam’s training, lounging on the floor with Tony standing just out of reach.

Peter glanced at his mentor. Tony had barely looked at Peter since the conference room, but the hostile energy from before wasn’t there anymore. If anything, Tony looked uncertain. Almost fluttery, like a bird.

A sharp spike of guilt turned Peter’s stomach. As soon as he’d said those words to Tony, he’d wanted to catch them in the air, stuff them back down before they could cross the distance between them. The memory of that last moment in the conference room was etched in his brain - the look on Tony’s face, how soft and almost scared his voice had been -  _ Is that what you really thought of me? _

Peter bit the inside of his cheek. After a moment, he turned his focus back to Sam.

Sam took the corner. He almost made it.

At the last second, he overcorrected. He spun off-course and careened at the wall for the thousandth time.

But he didn’t hit it this time. The sharp turn became a wide arc, and his shoulder scraped the wall for a second, sending sparks. Nonetheless, Sam reoriented the suit and flew back to them, dropping down in front of Tony.

The faceplate snapped up, and Sam was almost smiling.

“Hey! I almost got it that time.”

“Maybe another couple tries will do you some good. Run it five more times, and I better not have five more holes in my wall when you’re done.”

“Never took you for a drill sergeant, Stark.”

“That’s drill sergeant,  _ sir _ to you.”

Sam scoffed, but something like humor was glittering in his eyes when the faceplate kicked shut. He turned and launched at the same corner again.

Peter watched Sam circle the auxiliary again. Everything was moving so fast now, one thing after another, and even without the time to slow down and really process it all Peter was glad to have Sam there with him. Peter barely knew Sam, but it was a relief. It felt like he had a partner in this now - like he wasn’t as alone.

The first lap went like the last one - so close, but still spiraling off-course at the last minute. But Sam circled the auxiliary again, ready to try again.

“I’m not mad at you.”

It took Peter a moment to realize that Tony was talking to him. “What?” he asked.

“Earlier, in the conference room. I wasn’t being fair,” Tony said. “When the others told me they wanted you to help fight a laser stick tank man...I got scared. And I don’t do scared well, so I got angry.”

Peter stared at him, not knowing what to say. “Mr. Stark-”

“I just. I wanted you to know that I’m not mad at you or anything. There are toddlers out there with better emotional maturity than me, and I-”

Tony huffed, cutting himself off. “And I’m sorry.”

Peter watched him for another moment, and after a pause Tony turned to meet his gaze. The man had changed so much since before the blip, and under the auxiliary lights Peter could see the details he’d missed on the battlefield. Grayer hair, deeper lines around his eyes and mouth. Three years had aged the man a lifetime.

“Me too,” Peter said after a moment.

A crash caught their attention as Sam hit the wall again. Sam climbed to his feet, shaking it off and trying again.

“You know,” Tony said, “Friday can pilot any of my suits, and she knows me. She can imitate me in action.”

“Like when Toomes dropped me in the river.”

“Exactly like that.” Tony fidgeted with his watch, then pretended to brush something off his shirt. “I don’t know how tomorrow’s going to go, but just in case...I can send a suit on autopilot with you. If you want.”

“What about Sam?”

“He and Bruce never actually met before everything with Thanos. They can have a lunch date or something, play some icebreaker games.”

“I appreciate that, Mr. Stark,” Peter said, and he meant it. “But I want Sam out there with me.”

Tony sniffed. “Right.” He hesitated, then began, “Peter-”

Whatever he was going to say next was cut off by a triumphant yell from across the auxiliary. Sam made a perfect sharp turn, and Peter jumped to his feet, cheering. Sam shot back to them and landed, the faceplate pulling up to reveal an almost smug grin. “See, Stark? Flying this thing - it ain’t  _ nothing.” _

“I’m sorry, what was that?” Tony asked, feigning offense. “I wasn’t looking, and if I didn’t see it, it didn’t happen.”

The grin was wiped off Sam’s face.  _ “What?” _

“Ten more laps, Starscream. C’mon, we don’t have all day.”

It was another half hour before Peter was finally sent in to work with Sam. That extra energy was still burning under his skin, and it was good to finally be able to blow off some of that steam. It would keep him up all night otherwise.

Peter could use all the help he could get when it came to falling asleep.

The skylight faded from sunset to full night. The next few hours passed uneventfully. Peter and Sam ran through a series of training exercises, some directed by Sam, others by Tony, and it quickly became apparent that Tony’s worries about Sam were for nothing.

It was like the night fighting Fisk again. For how little they actually knew each other, Peter worked with Sam like they’d been training together for years. It was easy to read Sam’s next move, and whenever Peter needed it Sam was right there. It felt natural.

And it was fun. The swinging, the chatting, the company.

Peter had missed it.

So Peter was a little disappointed when it ended. Tony left for the lab to start a new suit for Peter, and Peter and Sam hit the showers.

“Been a crazy day, huh?” Peter asked as they headed out of the locker room.

“Pretty hectic, yeah.” Sam sighed, cracking his neck. “The last couple months have been so quiet, I forgot how quickly things can escalate on a mission. I’m sleeping like a baby one minute, and the next I’m dealing with a bald dude with a cane laser, and then-” He gestured vaguely around them.

Peter huffed. “You’re telling me,” he said. “I mean - I was just trying to enjoy the end of my summer vacation, you know? And then a water monster wrecked Italy, Nick Fury hijacked my vacation, and then I accidentally gave a weapon of mass destruction to some dude wearing a fishbowl helmet-”

“Wait a minute, you gave a weapon of  _ mass destruction-” _

_ “On accident-” _

“-to a dude in a  _ fishbowl helmet-” _

“He was pretty convincing, okay?”

Sam just laughed, shaking his head. “When it comes to stupid things Avengers have done, that ranks pretty low on the list. But the fishbowl helmet, man.  _ Jeez.” _ He clapped Peter on the back. “Where’d you get the weapon, anyway? SHIELD?”

Peter hesitated. “Tony, actually,” he said softly. He remembered holding those sunglasses in his hands and reading the note - _ For the next Tony Stark, I trust you _ \- and feeling like a fraud. Just like he’d felt in the cabin, watching Morgan and Pepper mourn what they’d lost. “They were these high-tech sunglasses he used to wear. He upgraded them for me, named it-”

“EDITH?”

Peter froze and whipped around.

Tony stood at the end of the hall, eyes wide, a piece of paper in hand.  _ Even Dead I’m The Hero, _ the AI’s voice rang in the back of Peter’s memory.

“Hi, Mr. Stark,” Peter said fast. “Um - hi - what are you doing here-”

Tony waved the paper. It looked like a technical sketch of a Spiderman suit with red question marks scribbled over it. “I wanted a second set of eyes on this,” he said. “What were you doing with EDITH, kid?”

“It’s - it’s kind of a long story-” Peter stammered.

“You’re not supposed to get her unless I die,” Tony said, and it was like a light flipped on. “Wait a minute - am I  _ dead? _ Do I die?”

Peter didn’t know what to say, and judging from his silence neither did Sam. Cold anxiety pooled in Peter’s stomach, and he could feel his heart pounding against his ribcage, beating like a drum. When no one said anything, Tony wilted, his face going gray.

“Oh,” he said.

“Mr. Stark,” Peter wheezed, but he didn’t know what else to say. Tony just stared back at him, and something shifted in his eyes like he was seeing Peter for the first time.

“Oh,” Tony said again.

“Tony. Let’s talk about this, man,” Sam said, raising his hands in a placating manner. “Let’s go sit down in the kitchen, and I’ll put on a pot of coffee-”

“I don’t want a  _ cup of coffee, _ Wilson, I want-” Tony choked, like the words clogged in his throat. “Okay. Yeah, no, okay, this is fine. I dodged death way too many times, I survived too many things I shouldn’t have. I mean, it had to catch up with me sometime, right?”

Peter let out a shaky breath. “Mr. Stark, please,” he said, finally finding his voice. “I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry I didn’t say something sooner. I’m sorry-”

_ “Please stop.” _

Peter’s mouth snapped shut so fast his teeth clicked. He’d never heard Tony sound like that before - he’d never heard Tony  _ plead. _

“I can’t have this conversation right now,” Tony croaked, scrubbing a hand across his face. “There’s too much I need to do. I need to get that new suit finished, I need to make a few more adjustments to the armor for Sam, I…”

He trailed off, a foggy look in his eyes. “I’ll be in the lab if you need me. Actually, scratch that. Don’t need me.”

And Tony marched past them. Peter watched him go, helpless.

A tense silence clogged the air between them, and Peter couldn’t handle it.

“Sam,” Peter said softly, “what went wrong when the blip got reversed?”

Sam’s browed furrowed in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“Thanos was dead. He destroyed the stones, and the Avengers killed him,” Peter said. His hands were shaking, so he squeezed them into fists. “But Thanos was there when we all came back, and I held those stones, Sam, I protected them  _ with my life. _ But they weren’t from our universe, right? They were from our past, and we were trying to get the stones back to the past-”

“Peter,” Sam said, and he sounded just as tired as Peter felt. “Not tonight.”

_ “Yes, _ tonight!” Peter yelled. “I’m so sick of all the secrets! Everyone keeps shoving me off like I’m just a kid, but I was on that battlefield with you. I carried the stones and I nearly died for it, I - I  _ killed _ for it, and then I had to watch Mr. Stark die because of them!”

“Peter-”

“Don’t I deserve to know why?” Peter asked, desperate. “Haven’t I  _ earned _ that?”

“Yes,” Sam said. “You’ve earned it as much as any of the rest of us. I’m sorry I blocked Bruce from telling you. I’m sorry I kept brushing you off. You deserve better than that. But tonight’s not the night, okay?”

“Then when is?” Peter pushed.

“I don’t know. But it’s been a long day.”

Peter opened his mouth to say something else but froze.

Sam looked absolutely exhausted.

For the first time, Peter remembered that it was after midnight when Sam jumped through the Star Trek teleporter after them. Sam crashed into 2021 already jet lagged, then confronted the faces of dead friends, learned new technology, and trained for hours with Peter and Tony. All after barely an hour of sleep.

The fight drained out of Peter. “Oh,” he murmured. “Oh, dude, you need to get to bed.” It was already late, and they had an early morning. Guilt rolled in Peter’s gut. “I’m so sorry.”

Sam waved it off. “I had it coming. But you’re right, I do need to get to bed.” He dragged his feet forward, squeezing Peter’s shoulder as he passed. “Tomorrow, okay? I’ll tell you everything after the mission.”

“Sounds good, man. Have a good night.”

“You too,” Sam said, then turned a corner and disappeared.

Peter watched him go. “Tomorrow,” he echoed to himself, pushing his hair back and out of his face. They’d finally get a hold of Fisk. They’d save Fisk’s family, and Peter...Peter would finally know how to save Tony.

All he had to do was get through tomorrow.


	7. Running Out of Time

The next morning found all the Avengers rising early, long before the first touch of sunlight hit the sky. No one was well-rested. They’d all had late, busy nights that bled into early morning action.

To their credit, no one complained. Some were nursing cups of coffee, some had lines of exhaustion set deep into their faces, but all eyes were sharp and focused.

The new suit fit like a glove. It was inspired by the Night Monkey - the alias Peter insisted on taking up no matter how incredulously Steve looked at him - but it was so different from the one SHIELD had made that Peter could hardly tell. It was still all-black, with goggles strapped across the face, but the Stark touch was impossible to miss. Despite its appearance, it  _ felt _ like the Spiderman suit, and it had all the bells and whistles Peter had gotten used to. Karen was even installed.

And it looked  _ good. _

Everything was perfectly personalized to Peter. He wanted to thank Tony, but after last night he didn’t even know how to speak to him. So he didn’t say anything before everyone split up.

Now, Peter and Sam were sitting on a rooftop ledge overlooking the intersection from the news reports. It was a little weird being next to Iron Man armor that didn’t have Tony in it, and even weirder that it had a voice modulator to make Sam’s voice sound like Tony’s. It made sense, sure. Sam was undercover. But it was still  _ creepy. _

Peter’s suit had a voice modulator, too, one that sounded weirdly like Sean Connery. Sam thought it was hilarious, and for ten straight minutes Peter had to listen to Sam using Tony’s voice to impersonate Sean Connery.

“It’s gotta be happening soon,” Peter said. They’d set up a personal comm channel pretty quickly, so Peter didn’t have to listen to a fake Tony voice and Sam couldn’t have the opportunity to mock the Sean Connery voice. “There’s no way they got the streets wrong, right?”

“All reports said this was the place,” Sam said. He gestured down below; the streets were congested, and even several stories up Peter could hear them laying on their horns and shouting. New York rush hour at its finest. “We just have to keep an eye out for semis.”

Never mind the fact that they’d already seen about a hundred semis amongst the thousands of cars that had passed through. Peter wished the news reports had provided something,  _ anything _ else on the crash, but they had to work with what they had.

The names of the deceased, an intersection, and a general time frame.

“This is impossible,” Peter muttered.

“I didn’t think you knew the meaning of the word.”

Peter rolled his eyes, and Sam must have sensed it even if he couldn’t see it. “Seriously,” the man said. “You didn’t bat an  _ eye _ when I told you time travel was a thing. Somewhere in your head you just decided,  _ oh this makes sense, _ and you rolled with it.”

“There was a lot going on at the time,” Peter pointed out.

“Yeah? There was a lot going on in London, too, but you still went solo on a mission that would’ve had all Avengers on deck. And no matter what the news is saying about you, pre-k, you  _ won.” _

Peter hummed. “Doesn’t feel like it,” he muttered.

Sam was quiet for a long minute, and Peter tried to occupy himself by staring down at the cars below. He couldn’t see any semis.

“Yeah, that’s the worst part about this job,” Sam finally said. “No matter how well you do, you always lose something.”

The HUD in Peter’s opticals suddenly flared to life, announcing an automatic switch from the personal comm channel to the team one.

_ “I’ve got eyes on Fisk,” _ Colonel Rhodes’s voice rang in Peter’s ears.

_ “We’re on our way,” _ Steve said.

_ “Be careful. He’s got ten...no, eleven men with him, and they all look like they’re armed to the teeth. I don’t recognize some of the weapons.” _

_ “Alien?” _ Natasha asked, and Colonel Rhodes huffed a sigh.

_ “Probably.” _

Sam jumped to his feet. “If Fisk is in the area, then-”

“It’s gonna be any minute.” Peter scanned the traffic below, but nothing stood out. No swerving, no movements at red lights, no suspicious semis.  _ Nothing. _ “This is impossible,” Peter repeated, shaking his head in frustration.

But he knew how to make it possible.

“Karen, give me the coordinates for Colonel Rhodes.”

_ “Of course, Peter.” _

“Wait, Pete, what are you doing-”

“I’ll be back. Keep an eye out!” Peter called, already leaping off the building. He swung towards the blinking red dot on the map Karen had thrown up for him, following it to an alley only about a block away. The alley looked empty save for the dumpsters, but BARF had come along with the hope of hiding an Avengers fight in the middle of Queens.

Sure enough, the alley burst into life as Peter dropped down. The holographic technology wavered, and the illusion melted away to reveal a flurry of people.

Gunshots and blue electric blasts punched through the chaos. A familiar green laser streaked through the air. Heavy artillery should’ve been a no-go in such a confined space, but apparently Fisk didn’t get the memo.

A quick survey was all Peter needed. Natasha wasn’t there yet - probably still en route - and Tony and Colonel Rhodes were at either end of the alley, handling Fisk’s crew the best they could without heavy artillery, a.k.a. nearly their entire arsenal.

In the heart of it, Steve and Fisk were squaring off.

_ “Queens-” _

_ “Kid, what are you doing here?” _ Tony asked.

Peter ignored them and launched himself at Fisk.  _ Duck, _ his body screamed at him, and Peter dived beneath a sweep of the laser without losing momentum. He charged past Steve and rammed into Fisk as hard as he could.

It was like slamming into a brick wall, but it knocked Fisk back into a dumpster. Gunshots turned in their direction. Peter’s sixth sense stayed quiet, and in the corner of his eye he saw Steve providing cover.

Fisk pushed against Peter. Peter dug his feet into the ground, grappling and struggling to keep the laser cane aimed upwards.

“Stop!” Peter yelled. Fisk was sheer brute force, and Peter’s arms were already beginning to shake from the strain of keeping him pinned. Peter wouldn’t be able to hold him. “What kind of car is your family driving?”

He was confident Fisk knew. Peter remembered everything that followed the night he’d lost Ben. The media wasn’t always given the whole story, but the family was given almost everything. They would’ve told Fisk everything if he asked.

If Peter was in his shoes, he would have memorized every detail.

Fisk shoved Peter back. Peter stumbled but recovered, forcing Fisk’s arm back up. “Stop!” he yelled again. “Just -  _ stop! _ I’m trying to save them!  _ Let me save them!” _

For the first time, Fisk hesitated. His eyes flicked back to the scene around them - Natasha charging in, his men dropping like flies, the realization that he’d soon be facing the full force of the Avengers alone.

Peter saw the conflict in Fisk’s eyes.

He saw the moment the conflict ended.

“Light blue Mercedes,” Fisk said. “Heading south.”

“Okay.” Peter let Fisk go and turned to swing out of the alley. The Avengers would be able to finish this without him.

“Sam,” Peter called into the comm, “they’re in a light blue Mercedes, going south!”

_ “Light blue-” _ Sam cut himself off as quickly as he’d started.  _ “They’re already there, we gotta move!” _

A gleam caught Peter’s eye as the Iron Man suit dived off the building, but Peter knew he wouldn’t make it. The Mercedes was already halfway into the intersection.

Without thinking, Peter whipped into the intersection and took the corner blind, letting his sixth sense land him. He smacked down hard on the windshield of a tractor trailer - and the driver looked up from his phone, shocked.

The guy slammed on the brakes, but it was too late. They went screeching into the intersection. Peter couldn’t see, but a crash exploded in his ears, the terrible scream of metal crunching on metal.

Peter clung to the windshield for dear life as the whole tractor trailer went careening, not meant to withstand the force of the sudden braking. They started to tip. The concrete rushed up to meet them.

But suddenly Sam was there, swooping beneath the semi and bracing himself against it. He strained against the weight of it, but he managed to shove it back onto its wheels just as the whole thing finally dragged to a stop.

They were barely past the intersection. The whole thing lasted only seconds.

For a moment, Peter just gasped for air, his ears ringing, adrenaline pumping through him.

Vanessa and Richard. The crash still happened - people were screaming -  _ Peter had to get to Vanessa and Richard. _

Peter stumbled off the truck, barely noticing Sam yanking the driver out of the cab. His vision went gray at the edges, his heart beating manically. A light blue car was wrapped around a pole.

Everything felt too light and too heavy all at once as he sprinted across the intersection. Peter had failed. He’d failed - he’d failed - he’d let them die, he’d promised Fisk he would save them and  _ he’d let them die anyway. _

Peter ignored the onlookers, ignored the cell phones out and aimed at him. He couldn’t process any of it. All that mattered was that light blue car.

Peter practically fell against the driver side door and looked inside.

Vanessa and Richard Fisk looked back.

The whole world spun for a moment as Peter was thrown off-balance by the rush of relief that hit him. “H-hey,” he stammered. He stumbled back and let Vanessa step out of the car. The woman was trembling, obviously shaken, but aside from taking an airbag to the face she looked fine. “Hey, are you okay?”

“Fine, I’m fine,” she said, soft and distant. She blinked, turning back to the car. “Richard? Richard, are you alright? Were you hurt?”

“I-I don’t think so,” Richard called back. He was a little older than the boy in the photograph, but he still looked so young. Younger than Peter.

Richard yanked at his seatbelt to no avail. His car door was caved in from the force of the crash, and it didn’t budge when Richard pushed against it. “I think I’m stuck,” he said, and suddenly there were tears in his eyes like everything was finally catching up to him. “I - I’m stuck, I can’t get out, I-”

“That’s alright,” Peter said. His voice was still shaking. “I can - I can help with that.”

_ “The driver’s not going anywhere,” _ Sam’s voice came through the comm.  _ “Are they alright?” _

“Yeah. Yeah, they’re okay.”

_ “Good. If you’ve got them handled, I’m going to go assist the others.” _

“Go. I’ve got this under control.”

The Iron Man suit launched off as Peter moved to the passenger side of the car. He leaned his strength into it, pushing it a few feet away from the pole. He pried his fingers under the door, and just as he began to pull his sixth sense commanded him to  _ move. _

Peter’s eyes shot up.

BARF’s holographic wall flickered as one of Fisk’s men came stumbling out of the alley. Tony followed, tackling him hard. The guy’s weapon - Peter had no idea what that was, it looked like a gun, it had to be alien tech - fell from his grip.

It hit the ground and fired.

A burst of hot blue light slammed into a parked pickup truck. People screamed and ducked for cover as the explosion rocked the street beneath them, and all Peter could do was watch as the truck launched into the air and headed straight towards them.

It was going to hit the car.

There was no time to get Richard out. Peter did the only thing he could. He hurled himself over the Mercedes, stood in front of the truck, and braced for impact.

But the Iron Man suit rocketed in, ramming into the truck at full force. The truck flew to the side and skidded across the ground, missing everyone.

But the suit wasn’t designed to withstand kamikaze attacks like that. Peter watched Sam spin out of control and crash into the pavement, hard.

Sirens wailed in the distance. Emergency services were on their way, which meant Vanessa and Richard were going to be fine. So Peter rushed to Sam, falling down to his knees beside the prone suit.

“Are you alright, man?” Peter asked.

Sam didn’t respond for a moment. Peter reached for him, but suddenly Sam was grabbing Peter tightly by the shoulders. “Are  _ you _ alright?” Sam demanded to know. He didn’t say it through the comm, and for a moment Peter was thrown off by Tony’s voice coming from the suit.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. You saved me. But you took a hard hit-”

An ambulance barreled into view. Sam snatched Peter off the ground, cutting him off mid-sentence, and took off.

“Guess you’re fine, then,” Peter muttered as Sam flew them away from the scene.

Peter watched the buildings thin out beneath them until they were at the outskirts of the urban area. They landed on the roof of an apartment building, and Peter pulled off his mask, glad to finally be rid of the Sean Connery voice.

“What happened with Fisk?” Peter asked.

“He’s secured,” Sam said shortly. He still didn’t look okay - his movements were stiff and jerky, and he was facing away from Peter.

Peter tried to shake off the last dregs of adrenaline so he could focus. Sam wasn’t too familiar with Peter’s abilities yet. It only made sense that the man would be worried. Jumping in front of that truck must have looked like a death wish to him.

“I can handle getting hit by a car. It’s not the worst I’ve had,” Peter said, aiming for humor, hoping to reassure Sam. “I got hit by a train once.”

It was the wrong thing to say.

Sam froze. Peter backtracked quickly, trying to figure out how to get him to chill out, but before he could speak Sam was whirling to face him. The suit’s faceplate kicked up, and-

It wasn’t Sam.

“What do you mean,  _ you got hit by a train once?” _ Tony asked.

“Mr. Stark,” Peter said, blindsided. He’d really thought it was Sam.

Tony looked furious. Peter didn’t know how to handle this. His mind felt vacant as he scrambled for something, anything to say, but his voice clogged in his throat and the words wouldn’t come.

“A train. A  _ train.” _ Tony spat the word. “I knew it. I - you can’t keep throwing yourself into danger like that! In front of trucks, in front of  _ trains. _ Who’s going to help you now that I’m dead?”

Peter recoiled, stung. “I,” he stammered but didn’t know how to continue. “I, uh-”

“You don’t think. You never  _ think. _ You get in over your head, and who’s going to save you like I just had to, huh? Who’s going to fix your mistakes?  _ Who?” _

“I had it handled,” Peter snapped, something ugly flaring up inside him. He didn’t need anyone hovering. Despite what anyone thought, Peter wasn’t made of paper - he could’ve taken that hit and walked away.

“Handled?” Tony asked. “That’s what you call  _ handled?” _

“I would’ve been  _ fine-” _

“Uh-uh, I don’t want to hear it. This is where I talk and you listen.”

_ “I’m not your kid!” _ Peter yelled, livid that Tony was trying to pull that move on him, like it was the ferry incident all over again. But Peter wasn’t a little kid, and he wasn’t  _ Morgan. _ Tony couldn’t talk to him like he might’ve talked to her.

“I’m not-” Peter began, but the expression on Tony’s face stopped him.

The anger receded a bit, replaced by shock, then concern. Tony looked legitimately taken aback, almost hurt. Like he had yesterday in the conference room.

“Mr. Stark?” Peter asked, suddenly uncertain.

The faceplate snapped shut. “Sam’s coming to pick you up,” Tony said, already turning and walking towards the edge of the roof. “Don’t do anything stupid.” And he flew off, leaving Peter fumbling for words.

* * *

The flight back to the Compound was long and quiet. There was no way Sam didn’t pick up on Peter’s mood, but Peter was grateful that he didn’t bring it up.

“SHIELD has custody of Fisk’s men,” Sam said instead. “The big guy’s gonna be staying with us at the Compound, so we have easy access to him when it’s time to go home.”

Dr. Banner was waiting for them when they got back. Steve and Colonel Rhodes were there soon after, but Natasha was tied up at SHIELD with processing Fisk’s crew and Tony was...well, not there. And no one seemed to be expecting him, either.

Debriefing was quick, with a promise from Steve for a more thorough discussion once everyone was able to regroup. Dr. Banner and Colonel Rhodes retreated quickly. Sam hesitated, glanced at Steve, then followed them out the door.

“Hey,” Steve said before Peter could follow. “You hungry?”

_ Not really, _ Peter wanted to say. He didn’t have an appetite, and he wasn’t sure if he’d be able to keep anything down.

But the adrenaline crash had drained him. Now, his head was pounding. His hands were starting to shake. Whether or not Peter wanted to eat, his enhanced metabolism meant he needed to. It was lunch time, anyway.

So, Peter mumbled, “Sure.”

This time, they skipped the full breakfast and just raided the pantry until they had sandwiches and snacks spread out across the kitchen bar. Peter slumped in a stool. Steve stayed on his feet, leaning on the counter across from Peter, and practically inhaled his first sandwich.

“Vanessa and Richard are fine,” Steve said after a moment, popping open a bag of pretzels. He carefully kept his eyes on his food. “They walked away from that crash. I figured you’d want to know.”

Peter nodded, relieved. Emergency services were nearly there when Tony had pulled him out of there, but he’d still left Richard trapped in the car.

“Thanks,” Peter said. “Yeah - yeah, that’s good to hear, actually.”

He chewed for a moment, anxiety fluttering in his stomach.

“I don’t know if I did the right thing,” he admitted.

Steve looked up, eyebrows furrowed. “What do you mean?

“Just jumping onto the semi like that,” Peter explained. There had been chaos as the tractor trailer tipped, like the entire world was spinning out of control. If it hadn’t been for Sam, more people could’ve been hurt, or worse.

_ Who’s going to fix your mistakes? _ Tony’s voice rang in Peter’s head.

“A lot of people almost got hurt, and the car got hit anyway. Sam had to save me.” Peter scrubbed a hand across his face. “I guess - I mean - I’m sorry. For screwing up.”

For a long moment, Steve just watched Peter. Peter couldn’t read the look on his face.

“You slowed the truck down,” Steve finally said. “It clipped them, sure, but it didn’t plow through them at full speed. That’s what saved their lives.”

He paused.

“And your team is there to back you up. You acted, Sam assisted. That’s how we work.”

Peter picked at his sandwich. “Okay,” he mumbled.

“I mean it,” Steve said. “You had seconds to act. You did as well as any of us could have done.”

“Mr. Stark doesn’t think so.”

Steve frowned at that. Peter tried not to look at his face, embarrassed at how small his voice sounded. Tears pricked at his eyes. Peter blinked them back, determined not to cry in front of Captain America again.

Still, Peter couldn’t stop the words from pouring out of his mouth. “I feel like I always disappoint him.”

“Peter,” Steve said, fast like he was scolding, but there was no heat behind it. “You know that’s not true.”

“No, I don’t know that, I-” Peter cut himself off, shaking his head. “I just. I wish I never knew what Mr. Stark really thought about me, I guess.”

Because the argument on the rooftop confirmed the fear that nagged at Peter constantly since the day Tony first showed up in his apartment. Tony didn’t think Peter was capable - he didn’t  _ trust _ Peter.

Taking on a teenage vigilante had been a gamble for Tony, and it hadn’t paid off.

And that hurt worse than anything.

“Sorry,” Peter said. “Um, thanks for lunch.”

He slipped off the stool and out of the kitchen before Steve could stop him, leaving the half-eaten sandwich behind.

Steve stood there for a long moment, then took a breath and marched straight down to the lab.

Tony had holed up there the minute he came back from the operation. Steve didn’t bother knocking. The sudden slam of music staggered him for a moment, like a spike through his skull. He’d hated loud music even before the serum tweaked his hearing.

Tony looked up from his work table, immediately guarded, but relaxed when he saw that it was Steve.

“What’s up, Spangles?” he yelled over the music, refocusing on whatever was spread out on the table in front of him.

Which meant he didn’t want to talk.

Steve sighed. “Friday, turn off the music, please.”

Silence flooded the room, and Tony dropped his wrench and crossed his arms over his chest, like a shield had just been stripped from him. Still, he raised an eyebrow, aiming for nonchalant. “What’s got you all riled up?” he asked.

“I want to talk with you about Peter,” Steve said.

“There’s nothing to talk about.”

“There is,” Steve insisted. “Listen. I never knew the kid. I don’t know what your relationship with him is, but I know you really care about him.”

Tony rolled his eyes. “Okay, Dr. Phil, I didn’t-”

“I saw what losing him did to you.”

Tony’s mouth snapped shut.

“I get that this is hard for you,” Steve said, because he remembered helping Tony off that spaceship years ago, a ghost of the man he’d been, the first words out of his mouth:  _ I lost the kid. _ “I get it. But, Tony, these are going to be his last memories of you.”

The silence seemed to crowd Tony, but after a moment he gave a short nod. “I know,” he said.

“Do you?” Steve asked. “You might get another chance with Peter in a few years, but for him this is it. You’ve gotta think about what kind of impact you’re leaving on him.”

Steve resisted the urge to close the distance between them, to reach out to soften his words. Tony wasn’t tactile like Steve was. It’d probably corner him more than it would comfort him. “If you leave things as they are now, I think you’ll regret it,” Steve said softly.

For a long moment, Tony didn’t reply. He opened his mouth, closed it, and sighed.

“I need to think about it,” Tony said.

“We don’t know how much longer Peter’s going to be here,” Steve warned. “We probably won’t have as much time as we’d like.”

“We never do,” Tony said bitterly.

“You’re running out of time with him.”

“And you’re running out of time with Sam.”

Steve froze, his own hypocrisy slapping him in the face.

It had barely been a day, and it wasn’t like Steve had had much time to see Sam, anyway.

But it was pretty clear to anyone who was looking that Sam was avoiding him. Steve didn’t push it, telling himself that he was just taking his cues from Sam. But truth be told, he wasn’t even sure what to say. There was a distance between them, and Steve didn’t know why or even how to begin to fix it.

Thankfully, Tony didn’t push it. He softened - or tired out, judging from the way his shoulders sagged and his eyes closed.

“Listen, I’ll figure it out,” Tony promised quietly. “I just - I  _ need _ to think about this, Steve. Okay? I need to.”

“Okay.” Steve relented with a small nod. He hesitated. “You need something to eat?”

Tony shook his head but cracked a small smile. “I’m a big kid. Go mother hen someone else.”

“Alright. I’ll see you later, Tony.”

“See you.”

Steve left, took a few steps down the hall, and faltered.

Whatever happened three years in the future, something went wrong between him and Sam. And Tony was right - Steve was running out of time.

He needed to handle this now. For both their sakes.

So Steve turned and headed towards the stairs, but Sam was one step ahead of him.

Sam came down the stairs slowly, hands in his pockets, watching Steve carefully. He came to a stop just a few steps away, and silence settled between them.

“Hey,” Steve said after a moment, and Sam smiled just a bit.

“Hey.”


	8. Closing the Distance

It was late in the evening when Sam joined Peter in the auxiliary gym.

Peter ignored him at first, hoping that maybe Sam was just there to blow off steam, too. But Sam just stood there in the middle of the floor, arms crossed, watching Peter swing back and forth.

Finally, Peter caved, dropping down next to him.

“It’s cool, seeing you up close when we’re not fighting,” Sam said, tone light. “Like watching an acrobat or something. I can see why YouTube loves you.”

Peter shrugged, not sure what to say. He didn’t feel like talking.

“What do you want?” he asked, then winced. Even to his own ears, he sounded cagey.

But if Sam noticed, he didn’t show it. “Just checking in,” he said.

It was frustrating and a little embarrassing, how the Avengers kept pursuing Peter like he needed a shoulder to cry on. Sam meant well, but Peter wasn’t in the mood. “I’m not some kid you need to babysit,” he said.

Sam raised an eyebrow. “I’m not here to babysit a kid,” he said point blank. “I’m here to make sure my teammate’s okay.”

Peter blinked, taken aback. “What?”

Sam didn’t smile, but he looked amused. “You said it yourself,” he said, walking like he expected to be followed. After a moment, Peter fell in stride beside him. “You’re technically an Avenger.”

“I thought it needed more paperwork than that.”

“If I cared about paperwork, I would’ve signed the Accords.”

They came to a stop by the locker room. “Wash up, and we’ll talk,” Sam said.

Peter swiped at the sweat on his forehead. “About what?”

“Last night, I said I’d tell you everything after the mission. I meant it.” Sam gave the door a nod. “So hurry up and shower. I can smell you all the way over here.”

Peter’s mouth went dry.

He remembered it so clearly - the blaze of golden light as Dr. Strange opened the portal; stepping from the dead air of Titan into the ash and smoke of the battlefield; watching the alien army rain down upon the ruins of the Compound with fire and brimstone. The rainbow of light bursting from the back of Scott Lang’s van. The weight of the gauntlet in his arms, cold and heavy.

The light of the arc reactor fading, and the sudden, crushing knowledge that nothing would ever be the same again.

And finally. _Finally._ The reason why.

Peter was out of the locker room in minutes, hair still dripping wet, a towel draped over his shoulders. Silence settled between them until Sam sighed.

“It all started with Scott Lang and that stupid van.”

* * *

Sam gave Peter everything he knew, from Scott offering Hank Pym’s research into the Quantum Realm, to Natasha sacrificing herself for the soul stone, to Nebula being captured and replaced by her former self. Peter had no idea how long they spent talking, but eventually they ended up in the kitchen, both sipping at coffee.

“Bruce snapped and brought us back,” Sam said. “It messed him up - I mean, you’ve seen him, you know what it did to him. But he didn’t get time to recover. You remember how long we had between waking up and jumping through those portals? That was how long it took for Thanos to use the Pym particles and _wreck_ the place.”

Peter remembered landing on the battlefield, seeing Steve alone in the wreckage, beaten and brandishing a fractured shield.

Minutes. It had taken _minutes_ for Thanos to do that.

“And...I guess that’s about it.” Sam tapped a finger against his mug. “You know the rest. You were there for it.”

Peter swallowed thickly and gave a slow nod. He’d never questioned his place on that battlefield, but...it was like a weight off his chest, to finally know _why_ he’d been there. And it meant everything to Peter that Sam was willing to trust him with that.

“What about Steve?” Peter asked after a moment.

Sam didn’t have to ask what Peter meant. He looked away for a moment, shoulders slumped, looking tired.

“Steve was the one who returned the stones to their proper timelines,” he said after a moment. “He...didn’t come back. Not in the way I’d expected.”

“Wait, what?” A cold feeling seeped into Peter’s chest. “I thought you said he didn’t die.”

“He didn’t,” Sam said. “The last stone he returned, that time period...it was only a few years after he’d gone into the ocean.”

 _I know what it’s like to be a man out of time,_ Steve had said.

“He stayed there,” Peter murmured. Steve went home.

Sam nodded. “Yeah.”

“Good for him,” Peter said, and he meant it.

A small smile broke across Sam’s face. It looked bittersweet. “Good for him,” he echoed softly. “He’s still alive back in 2023, actually. But it’s been decades for him. He’s old now, and he’s a totally different person, and - I haven’t visited him in months.”

Sam shook his head. “I never held it against him, because I understood it. Honestly. But…” He hesitated. “He gave Bucky a heads up. I just...wish he’d done the same for me, you know?”

Peter paused, not sure if it was his place to ask, but he went ahead and took a chance. “Is that why you’ve been mad at him?”

“Mad isn’t the word. Hurt, maybe,” Sam said, surprising Peter with his honesty. “I talked with him about it earlier. Obviously I couldn’t tell him everything, because I don’t know how much fortune telling is too much. But...we spoke.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. We got things figured out, as much as I think this can get figured out.” He paused. “You should talk with Tony, too.”

Peter picked at a nail. “Yeah. Maybe.” He really didn’t want to think about Tony right now. It was good to finally know what went wrong with the plan, to know how to keep Tony from ever having to take a step onto that battlefield.

But the fight this morning still stung. Peter was hurt, and he was angry, and he was tired.

Sam looked like he might pursue the thought, so Peter sprung to his feet and opened the fridge. “You hungry?” Peter asked. “I’m _starving.”_

Sam raised an eyebrow, unimpressed, but thankfully didn’t push it. To be fair, Peter wasn’t _entirely_ avoiding the conversation. He hadn’t eaten much for dinner.

Or lunch. Or breakfast, honestly. Between this morning and blowing off steam on the auxiliary, Peter had been more active today than he’d been in the weeks that Spiderman had been benched. His body was really starting to hate him for skipping the necessary calories.

Peter ended up grabbing the pizza box leftover from dinner. Steve had tried to drag Peter into the kitchen and didn’t relent until Peter had eaten a slice. Now, Peter was glad to see that there was more than half a meat-lovers pizza left.

“Cold pizza?” Sam asked.

 _“Lightyears_ better than reheated pizza.”

Sam rolled his eyes but stole a slice anyway. “You ever hear about the time Thor got food poisoning from old pizza?”

Cold pizza turned to raiding the pantry for snacks turned to trading stories around mouthfuls of pretzels and whipped cream.

Sam’s stories were all about Avengers operations - like the time he and Wanda triggered one of their own traps _(“We spent the rest of the mission drooling on the floor, and Clint never let us forget it.”)_ or when Vision pretended to be a mannequin to hide from guards _(“And it actually worked. For the first five seconds.”)_

Peter told Sam about Spiderman outings. There was the angry raccoon he had to pry off a fire escape nine stories up; the hopscotch battle he got into with a class of preschoolers; and the list of errands he ran for an old lady because her knee was telling her it was getting ready to rain.

His stories felt so small next to Sam’s. But Peter was proud of them, because they were Spiderman’s. They were _his._

The world needed the Avengers, a trained team of specialists who could be trusted to protect them in times of crisis. But they also needed someone to look out for the little guy.

And that was who Spiderman was - who Spiderman had always been.

Sometimes he downed airplanes and saved cities from drone strikes. Other times he came in second in hopscotch tournaments. From the big things all the way down to the little things, Peter knew there’d always be a blind spot, a place where no one else was there to help. That was where Spiderman belonged. Where Peter belonged.

Spiderman and Peter Parker. Maybe the two were never really different.

Maybe Peter could face the world that knew him as both.

The clock ticked close to midnight. Sam cleared away the snacks, and Peter leaned back, full and content. Whole.

“I’m heading to bed,” Sam said, stretching. He yawned. “Wanna walk back with me?”

“No, I think I’m gonna stay up a little longer.”

“I don’t know how kids do it.”

Peter cracked a smile. “Good night, Sam.”

“Yeah, night, pre-k.”

It had been a long day after not a lot of sleep. But Peter wasn’t tired like he should be, too many thoughts bouncing around his head and too much energy still in his muscles.

Maybe a walk would help him wind down a bit.

The Compound was dark and quiet this time of night. Peter drifted through the halls, and as he passed the windows in the common room he reached out to ghost his fingers along the glass.

He remembered the battlefield so clearly: the taste of ash in his mouth, the smoke burning in his nose, the clang of metal against metal ringing in his ears. It was where Tony and so many others had died, and it followed him everywhere.

And now, Peter was staring out at that battlefield. But it wasn’t a smoldering mass of destruction. Not yet.

Now, it was open acres of grass, glistening and pale in the moonlight; it was miles of woods, full of birds and deer and wildlife; it was quiet and peaceful and safe.

With a pang of sadness, Peter realized he’d forgotten what it looked like.

But this was how he wanted to remember the Compound. Not as the battlefield, but as a home.

Just as Peter pressed a hand to the window, his sixth sense tingled just a bit. _Catch,_ it whispered, right as someone said, “Think fast.”

Peter didn’t need the warning. He caught whatever had been thrown without even looking. It was a small, thin box. Peter cast a wary look up.

“Well,” Tony said. He gave the box a meaningful nod.

After a moment, Peter pulled the lid off. Something inside caught the moonlight, gleaming silver.

“A watch?” Peter asked.

“Here, let me show you.” Tony stepped forward. He took the watch and fastened the clasp on Peter’s wrist.

“Is it a smart watch?”

“The smartest watch you’ve ever seen.”

The man worked so fast that Peter couldn’t keep up, but one second he had a normal watch on, and the next nanobots had encased his hand like a fingerless glove. A mini-gauntlet.

“Whoa, wait, what?” Peter flipped his hand back and forth, wiggling his fingers and staring at the bright light of the repulsor. “How’d you do that? Show me!”

Tony smiled just a bit. He took Peter by the hand and pressed down twice on the frame of the watch still around his wrist. Peter watched, fascinated, as the nanobots broke apart and collapsed back into their case. It looked so _normal_.

“It reads your fingerprints. You and I are the only two people who can actually use this,” Tony said. “Okay, look closely.”

The watch face was digital, but when Tony tapped it, the screen split to reveal a bright blue light beneath. He tapped it again. A small trigger sprang up, and Tony grabbed and pulled it up towards Peter’s knuckles. A flash of the gauntlet’s skeleton shot forward, quickly followed by a flurry of nanobots. In a fraction of a second, they locked into place, forming the gauntlet.

“This is so cool,” Peter whispered.

“It isn’t strong enough for a full repulsor blast, but it can function like a flash grenade. Bright lights and controlled sound bursts. It’s bulletproof, it has a panic button, and it’s compatible with Karen if you want to sync her up to it.”

“Wow, this is…” Peter turned his hand over, just staring. “I don’t know what to say. Thank you.”

Tony shuffled a bit, shoving his hands in his pockets. “It’s for emergency situations,” he said softly. “Just in case.”

Peter paused.

 _Who’s going to help you now that I’m dead?_ Tony had asked. _Who’s going to fix your mistakes?_

For the first time, Peter realized what Tony was really trying to say. It was the same thing he’d been saying with the Iron Spider suit and EDITH, with every update to Karen, with every upgrade to the classic suit and web shooters. _How can I protect you when I’m not there?_

It wasn’t a lack of trust.

It was fear.

Blinking hard to push back the sudden tears, Peter retracted the gauntlet back into a normal watch. It hummed softly against his wrist.

“Did you, um...did you just make this?” Peter asked.

“No, this took a while,” Tony said, taking a step back. “I finished it right before I met you. I used to wear it all the time, but after everything, I…” He trailed off, then shrugged. “I guess I just didn’t need it anymore.”

Peter nodded, not trusting his voice.

Tony didn’t break the silence, but he’d come this far. Peter could take the last few steps to finally bridge the distance between them.

“I’m sorry,” Peter said. “For everything I said.” He’d said a lot of things that he regretted since coming here, but he hoped Tony understood what he was trying to say. “I didn’t - I didn’t mean it. You didn’t deserve it.”

“Debatable,” Tony muttered. He stared at Peter for a long moment, then sighed.

“I gotta be honest with you, kid, I don’t know what to say. I don’t know how to move forward with-” He gestured vaguely between them. _“-this._ But what we’re doing now, it’s not working. And I’m sorry. I’ve been... _prickly_ ever since you showed up.”

“Yeah, you have.”

Tony smiled a bit, but his face was drawn and tired. “I’m sorry,” he said again. “You deserve better than that. It’s not an excuse, but…”

He scrubbed a hand across his face. “It’s hard, because you’re not _my_ Peter. Sooner or later, I’m gonna have to send you home and go back to a world where you’re - not there. But that’s not fair to you. Not when you’re dealing with the same thing.”

Peter didn’t know what to say. He remembered his first night in 2021, seeing Tony for the first time and the icy fear that had paralyzed him, the dread that took root and threatened to choke him. He’d spent months wishing he could see Tony again, and when it finally happened, Peter had wanted to do nothing but run.

Maybe Tony was feeling that, too.

Something loosened inside of Peter. All the festering anger and sorrow drained out of him, puddling at his feet like shaking off rain water.

“I’m sorry,” Tony said again.

“It’s okay.”

“It’s not okay, I-”

“I forgive you, Mr. Stark.”

Tony’s face crumpled. “I wish I got to keep you,” he whispered, then reached forward and grabbed Peter.

Peter wasn’t sure what was happening for a moment, but then Tony’s arms wrapped around him, pulling him close. This time Peter immediately melted into the hug. He clung to Tony, burying his face in the man’s shoulder. Before Peter realized it, he was crying and he couldn’t stop.

“I missed you,” Peter said, and this time Tony heard him.

“I missed you too, kid.”

Peter didn’t know how long they stayed like that. Eventually, he stopped shaking, and there were no tears left to cry. He sniffed, an ugly, snotty sound, but he didn’t have it in him to feel embarrassed. He felt lighter than he had in months. He felt _good._

Peter pulled back. Tony kept a hand on the back of his neck. “You good now?” the man asked.

“Yeah.” Peter wiped his eyes, his face cold from the half-dried tears. “Tired, but good.”

“Maybe it’s time you got some sleep, then.”

Maybe. But Peter was reluctant to leave. He didn’t know how much longer he’d be in 2021, and he didn’t want to lose what little time he had left with Tony.

Which reminded him. Peter knew how to save Tony.

“Mr. Stark, there’s something I need to tell you.”

“Yeah?”

“It’s kind of a big thing, actually.” Now that Peter thought about it, he didn’t know how much he should tell Tony. Like Sam said, too much foreknowledge wasn’t a good thing. Peter tried to pick apart the most important details. “It’s about time travel, and the stones-”

He didn’t have the chance to finish.

A blaring alarm cut him off, flooding the room in red light. Peter’s eyes snapped to the ceiling.

“Friday?” Tony asked.

 _“Bad news, boss,”_ Friday said. _“Wilson Fisk has freed himself from his cell.”_


	9. Never Enough Time

_“Wilson Fisk has freed himself from his cell.”_

Peter took off without a second thought, sprinting out of the Compound’s residential quarters. He could hear Tony running behind him. The man was arguing with Friday, but Peter only caught snippets over the blood rushing in his ears.

What was Fisk’s gameplan? Now that his family was safe, what was Fisk going to do?

Peter burst out of the Compound’s living quarters, skidding around a corner towards the detainment wing. “Where is he, Fri?” he called. He couldn’t hear Tony. A quick glance back confirmed that Peter had outrun him.

_“He’s downstairs near the weapons locker.”_

“Is his cane there?”

_“It is.”_

“Great,” Peter huffed. He jumped the stairs and hit the ground running, glancing at the lab as he passed.

The weapons locker room was passcode encrypted, with a sliding titanium door. By the time Peter got there, the door was on the floor, smashed at the edge where fingers had pried it open.

Half of the storage lockers had already been torn open. All kinds of weapons were scattered across the floor - guns, blades, rifle-shaped things that screamed alien technology. Fisk was there, elbow deep in a locker at the end of the row.

“Hey, man,” Peter called. Fisk whipped around to face him. “You must really like that cane - _uh oh.”_

Speak of the devil.

A green laser tore through the air as Peter hit the ground. It blew clean through the wall beside him. Peter was on his feet again immediately, lunging forward.

Peter didn’t know what was in half of these lockers, but he knew enough to guess that swinging a green laser around here wasn’t the best idea. Fisk must have realized the same thing. His beady eyes narrowed, and he dropped the cane to meet Peter with his hands.

Fisk had brute force, but Peter had momentum. At the last moment Peter went low and propelled himself forward, ducking Fisk’s hands and ramming his shoulder into Fisk’s gut.

The man was knocked back. Peter tried to keep his footing - he needed an opening to grab that cane and get out of dodge until backup got there. But Fisk snatched him by the sleeve and they both went down hard.

Fisk kept his grip and pulled Peter close, using his weight to shove Peter hard against the floor as he rolled on top of him.

A hand caught Peter by the throat and squeezed.

For one panicky second, Peter couldn’t breathe. But then Fisk was blasted off-balance. The hand slipped, and Peter had just enough leeway to roll out from beneath the man and jump out of his reach. He looked back at the doorway.

Tony was there in full armor, repulsor still aimed at Fisk.

“We can do this the easy way or the fun way,” Tony said.

It was a bluff. The first repulsor blast had been reactionary, but they were practically in the middle of a minefield. Tony wouldn’t risk it again. Not with Peter there.

Fisk looked at Tony for a long moment, then gave a crooked smile.

He called the bluff.

Tony launched forward as Fisk rushed for the cane. Fisk was quicker by a fraction of a second; he swept the cane up, snatched Tony out of the air, and tossed him back like a rag doll.

Tony crashed into Peter. They smacked into a row of lockers, the weight of the suit knocking the air out of Peter.

“This is the fun way?” Peter wheezed as Tony rolled off him. Still, he waved Tony off when the man tried to pat him down. He wasn’t hurt.

Tony must have reached the same conclusion. “Broken ribs build character.”

Fisk ran for the door, and Tony was after him like a bolt. Peter stumbled to his feet and followed.

They took the corner, and Tony swerved to avoid a blast from the cane. He was fast but the laser still nicked the shoulder of the suit; nanobots tore off and scattered lifelessly across the floor. Peter and Tony both stared at the exposed stripe of skin.

The suit wouldn’t be enough to defend against the laser.

“Well, that’s no good,” Tony muttered. He shot forward nonetheless.

The rest of the hallway was a straight shot to the stairs, and Fisk was beelining for them. But Natasha came whipping down them, Widow Bites already raised. Trapped, Fisk skidded to a halt and ducked through the only door available, straight into Tony’s lab, Natasha on his heels. Dum-E’s alarmed trill echoed down the hall.

Peter and Tony were only seconds behind them. Natasha had already crowded Fisk against a work table, but while the Widow Bites seemed to sting, they didn’t knock Fisk down like they had Peter.

Fisk’s elbow clipped Natasha’s chin. She went down on one knee, but Tony blasted Fisk back before he could strike again. Fisk flipped over the table and crashed to the ground.

Natasha spat out a mouthful of blood and glared. “Lucky shot.”

A green light sliced up into the rafters, more of a warning shot than anything else. Still, Natasha rolled for cover, and Tony backed Peter away.

“Friday, lockdown!” Tony yelled.

Shutters slammed down over the tall windows. The moonlight was drowned out, and for a split second the lab was pitch black.

Dim lowlights kicked on, bathing everything in pale red light and casting long shadows across the floor.

Fisk moved further back into the lab, cane raised, but the man was more disheveled than Peter had ever seen him. His jacket was gone, his shirt untucked, half the buttons of his vest missing. Wild eyes flicked back and forth as Fisk tried to assess the situation. He looked like a cornered animal.

A shield came frisbeeing through the open doorway. It struck Fisk in the midsection and took him down hard; his bald head bounced off the floor, and he skidded back until he hit a row of cabinets.

Steve moved in, Sam close behind him.

But Fisk was desperate, and there was nothing more dangerous than a desperate man.

Bursts of green light punched through the air, fast and wild. Peter heard beakers shatter as a laser wrecked a work table and-

An explosion rocked the lab.

Peter barely had time to think before someone was barreling into him from behind, tackling him behind another table for cover. Blinking spots out of his eyes, Peter tried to push himself to his hands and knees. Whoever was with him - it was the Iron Man armor, it was Tony - shoved him back down.

Debris flew overhead. Chunks of wood and metal smashed into the window shutters. Dum-E and U screamed in panic.

“This isn’t working,” Peter gasped. He didn’t know who he was talking to. Himself, maybe. “We can’t fight him like this.”

Fisk’s weapon was too destructive, too volatile. There was too much room for collateral damage, and Fisk didn’t seem to mind hurting anyone here, not even himself. But Fisk didn’t seem _intent_ on hurting anyone. He was just cornered, and he wanted out.

“You’re right,” Tony said, voice gruff. “We need a plan.”

There wasn’t enough time for an effective plan.

Peter pushed himself up to his knees, willing the roaring in his ears to fade, forcing himself to focus. He tried to find the others.

Tony was still there beside him, hands on Peter’s shoulders. The Iron Man armor was scuffed, with a sharp scrape across the face plate. Steve and Sam were across the room behind another table. Steve was fine, but he was crouched over Sam, who was limp on the ground with blood streaming down his face. Peter couldn’t see Natasha.

Fisk wasn’t here to fight them.

Maybe no one else had to get hurt.

Peter took a deep breath, then stepped out from cover, hands up in surrender.

Fisk stood in the atrium of the lab. One of his eyes was swollen shut, the side of his face was already purpling, and blood was gushing from his obviously broken nose. Steve’s shield lay abandoned on the floor between them.

Fisk raised the cane threateningly at Peter.

But Peter’s sixth sense stayed quiet. Fisk didn’t fire.

“Peter, get back here,” Tony hissed. Peter ignored him.

“Listen to him, Queens,” Steve said, and Peter ignored him, too.

“I don’t want to fight you,” Peter said, locking eyes with Fisk. “You just wanted to protect your family, and I can’t blame you for that.”

 _“Peter,”_ Tony snapped. He tried to grab Peter, but Peter stepped out of his reach, raising a placating hand towards Tony.

 _Trust me,_ he wanted to say. _Trust me to do this._

In the corner of his eye, he saw a dark figure creeping silently through the destruction at the back half of the lab. Natasha.

“You’re the one who saved Richard and Vanessa,” Fisk said.

“Yeah, that was me,” Peter said, remembering the mask and the voice modulator.

Fisk gave Peter an appraising look. “Why?”

“Because I get it.” Peter took a steadying breath and risked a few steps forward. “I know what it’s like to come back to a world where I’ve lost...everything. You can’t sleep. You can’t focus on anything else. You’re stuck, alone in a world that moved on without you.”

Fisk’s glare dimmed. Hope fluttered in Peter’s chest.

“What’s your point, Spiderman?” Fisk asked in a low, tired voice.

“It’s just Peter.”

“Peter, then.”

Peter took another step forward. “It would mean everything to me, to know that somewhere out there, the people I loved were still safe and alive. That they got their happy ending, with or without me. So I’m not going to fight you for saving them. I’d have done the same thing,” Peter said. “But now you have to do the right thing. For your family.”

Fisk stared at Peter for a long moment. “This is the right thing.”

“They’re alive because of you,” Peter agreed. “But now it’s time for us to go back.”

“They need me.”

Peter’s voice failed him.

Richard would always need his father. Peter still needed his own father, and his uncle Ben, and-

And Tony.

“They’ll always need you,” Peter said softly, and now he was only a few steps away from Fisk. “And thanks to you, they’ll live to see the end of the Blip. They’ll get you back. But that’s why we can’t stay. You’re already here, waiting to come home to them. There can’t be two of you.”

There was a long moment where nothing happened. Then, Fisk’s eyes darkened as he came to an understanding, and Peter’s heart sank. This was about to go south.

“You’re right,” Fisk said slowly, contemplatively. “There can’t be two of me. Which means the other one can never come back.”

The aim of the cane shifted slightly, to the table where Tony was still hiding for cover.

“I can’t let Stark invent the time travel technology,” Fisk said calmly. “Don’t get in my way, _Peter.”_

Peter sighed. “Fine, then,” he murmured. Then: “You ever see that really old movie, _Back to the Future?”_

He kicked Steve’s shield up into the air. Fisk fired, but the laser bounced off the vibranium, ricocheting into the window shutters behind Fisk. Peter charged, dropping the shield to reach for his wrist. He tapped his watch, pulled the lever the way Tony showed him, and threw his hand up.

A flash of light startled Fisk back. He swung the cane blindly, but a controlled burst of sound rippled through the air, knocking the man back. The cane clattered from his hand as he hit the ground.

Peter jumped back fast, putting distance between them.

Natasha triggered the trap.

The ground burst into a blazing light. The current of electricity ripped through Fisk’s body, and the man seized, his joints locking up. For a brief moment, Peter thought Fisk might stay on his feet. But then the man went crashing to the floor.

The electric shock was over almost as soon as it began.

Everything was frozen for a moment, everyone staring at Fisk like he might get up and get ready for another round. But Fisk stayed down.

Peter let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. Sam was finally beginning to stir, and Steve stood. He turned to secure Fisk, and Natasha fell in step beside him, barely bothering to hide her limp.

“Peter,” Tony called and rushed forward. Tony’s hands were steady when they grabbed Peter’s shoulders, and his faceplate kicked up. Tony looked tired, but he was smiling. “You did-”

It happened fast. Steve yelled, and Peter whipped around. Fisk was moving.

Steve lunged forward, hands outstretched, but it was too late.

Tony was whirling, realizing the danger but having no way to save himself from it. There just wasn’t enough time. There never was.

The green light streaked through the air.

Peter didn’t hesitate.

He shoved Tony out of the way.

Peter barely felt the impact as something tore through him. But his vision went gray at the edges, and with a muted sense of horror he saw flecks of blood splatter onto Tony’s armor, red gleaming against red.

The world spun. Arms grabbed him when his knees buckled. Peter felt himself being lowered to the floor, and then he was staring up at Tony.

Hands pressed down hard on his stomach, and that was all it took for his nerves to come alive.

For a blinding moment, all Peter could process was the pain, white hot fire lancing up his stomach, driving deep into his ribs. He choked out a strangled gasp.

 _Mr. Stark,_ he tried to say, but the words wouldn’t come.

“You’re alright,” Tony murmured, fast and panicked. “I know it hurts, but you have to let me keep pressure on it. Peter? Hey. _Hey,_ open your eyes, kid.”

Peter hadn’t realized he closed them.

“This sucks,” he wheezed. Tony choked a laugh that sounded like a sob.

Friday was reading his dropping vitals, and to Peter’s horror there were tears rising in Tony’s eyes.

Peter didn’t know how to make this better. But he tried. “It’s okay. I’m not your Peter.”

Tony looked like he’d just gotten slapped in the face.

“You’re gonna...gonna save your Peter, and it’ll be okay,” Peter tried to explain. “This is fine. It’s okay. I’m not scared.”

Tony gaped for a moment, lost for words, face twisted somewhere between horrified and heartbroken. “It doesn’t matter where you’re from, you hear me?” he finally said. “You’re my _kid._ And I’m not watching you die again, you understand that? I’m _not.”_

Unbidden, tears welled up in Peter’s eyes. “Sorry,” he gasped. “I’m sorr-”

“Nope,” Tony shook his head sharply. “Taboo phrase. Never say that again.”

The man took a deep breath, and his eyes sharpened, brow set in determination.

“Sam!” Tony yelled. Sam stumbled over, dazed but alert.

“What can I do?”

“I need your pararescue training. How do I keep him alive till the med team gets here?”

Their voices began to fade, drifting further and further away as the world sank into darkness.

_Eyes open, kid._

  
  


_Kid?_

  
  
  
  


_Peter?_


	10. The Natural Truth

Sometimes, Peter felt like he was floating.

Sometimes, he didn’t feel anything at all, and sometimes he didn’t feel like  _ he _ was anything at all.

But right now Peter wasn’t floating. He felt like he was sinking, a heavy pressure weighing him down, drowning him. Everything was too much. It wasn’t enough.

A hand pressed against his forehead. It was something May would have done, but this hand was firmer, more calloused, a mechanic’s hand. A voice brushed the surface - soft, soothing. It grounded him, even if he couldn’t make out the words.

Before Peter knew it, he was floating away again.

* * *

The next time didn’t feel like sinking. It didn’t feel like much of anything.

One minute Peter was gone, and the next he began to settle into the world around him.

It came slowly at first, a sleepy, dream-fogged climb. But then everything began to drift towards him. A steady beeping. Heavy blankets. Something clipped to his finger.

Finally, Peter opened his eyes and looked blearily around. The room was dim, but it was unmistakably the medbay. Peter had been here a thousand times before.

_ Right, _ he thought distantly. The fight. Fisk. The laser.

Peter tried to blink the fog out of his eyes, shaking his head slowly. Only then did he notice the figure by his bed.

Peter locked eyes with Sam. Sam watched Peter for a long moment before setting down the book he’d been reading.

“You awake for real this time?” he asked.

“I think so?” Peter rasped.

Sam paused like he wasn’t sure, and Peter wondered how many times they’d already had this conversation. Even now, Peter felt light and drifty. He looked down, noticed the IVs trailing from his arms, and wondered just how drugged up he was.

“We have Fisk secured. For good, this time,” Sam finally said. “He was already pretty much beat after what you and Nat did to him, but Steve sucker punched him pretty good after the stunt you pulled.”

Peter hummed, only half-listening. “You got stitches,” he said. He tried to point, but it was like his hand was connected to an entirely different body. Sam smirked and pressed his fingers to his eyebrow, where the skin was knitted together by stitches.

“A concussion, too,” Sam said. “But, you know. It’s not like I got a  _ hole _ blown in me or anything.”

“How long have I been out?”

“It’s almost five in the morning now, so...barely more than twenty-four hours?”

Peter winced. “A whole day?”

_ “A whole _ \- do you hear yourself? If you were anyone else, you’d be dead right now.  _ You’d _ be dead if it wasn’t for the emergency surgery we got you into.”

There was something in Sam’s face, something simmering there that Peter didn’t know how to deal with.

“I heal fast,” Peter offered, because maybe that would help. “I’ve had...other bad things happen.” He couldn’t really say he’d had  _ worse _ anymore, because he was pretty sure that getting run through by a laser was worse than the train. “Got hit by a train once.”

It was out before Peter could stop it. That confession hadn’t gone over so well last time.

But Sam didn’t look mad, or scared, or anything like Tony had looked. For as high as Peter felt, Sam looked distressingly sober.

“Peter,” the man said, voice quiet but firm. “I won’t be the one to tell your aunt that you’re never coming home. Okay? I refuse to.”

Peter closed his eyes, too tired to argue. “What would you have had me do?”

“I don’t know,” Sam said, surprising Peter. Peter opened his eyes, and for the first time he saw just how exhausted Sam looked. “I don’t know.”

Peter watched Sam, remembering their first conversation that night at HQ.  _ The world has changed a lot, and it’s like it doesn’t stop changing, _ the man had said.  _ I’m still trying to figure out what normal looks like for me. _

Peter didn’t know when Sam became normal for him, or vice versa.

“I’m sorry,” Peter said. “I read the situation wrong. I thought Fisk was doing this for his family, but really he was just doing it for himself. I’ll be more careful next time.”

Sam still looked tired, but when he smirked it reached his eyes.

“Yeah, well. Next time I’ll try not to be passed out on the floor.”

“That might be good.” Peter smiled, but it sapped the energy out of him. He glanced around the empty room. “Where is everyone?”

“If you mean Tony, he’s sleeping for the first time since we came and crashed the party.”

“No, I’m not,” a new voice called.

Tony was standing in the doorway, dark circles under his eyes, nursing a cup full of what was probably coffee. “Hey, Underoos,” he said, his stiff shoulders betraying his casual tone. “How’re you feeling?”

“He’s fine, Tony,” Sam answered before Peter could. “I thought I told you to get some rest.”

“Plenty of time to rest later,” Tony said, waving a dismissive hand. Something felt off about him. Unsettled. “Why don’t you take your own advice? I know you haven’t slept a wink since the doctors let you go.”

“That’s still more than you.”

“Thanks, Starscream. I’ve got it handled in here.”

“Tony-”

_ “Sam. _ If you  _ really _ don’t mind, I’d like to speak with the kid alone.”

After a moment, Sam huffed and grabbed his book off the nightstand. He leaned in close to Tony as he passed.

In a low voice that Peter probably wasn’t supposed to hear, Sam said, “Go easy on him. He’s only been awake a few minutes, and I don’t think he’s got much left in him.”

Tony smiled tightly, staring at the floor. “I’ll be quick.”

Sam hesitated, looking between Tony and Peter, then sighed and stepped out of the room. The door closed behind him with a quiet  _ click. _

A heavy silence settled between them. Tony stood at the foot of Peter’s bed, staring down like the blankets might hold all the answers. Peter tried to focus on him, but the world was beginning to swim. The hazy feeling turned to bone-deep exhaustion, and a deep ache began to open up in his stomach.

Finally, Tony broke the silence.

“I know you’re not in a good way right now, so I’m going to say sorry up front,” he said. “I’m going to be selfish right now. I know, I know, I’m pretty good at being selfish. But points for honesty, right?”

He didn’t sit, didn’t move from where he was standing. He didn’t even look at Peter.

“Truth is, I can’t sleep. Not right now, not like this, with you...like this. So I’m going to say my piece, and then I’m going to let you rest, okay?”

Tony began to fidget, hands fluttering with anxious energy, weight shifting between feet.

“First thing’s first, I know why you took that hit for me. I understand. Honestly, I do. But I need you to understand why something like that can never happen again. Losing you again isn’t an option.”

Peter struggled to clear his mind, to focus on what Tony was saying. Tears burned at his eyes.

“I don’t care if I’m dead in 2023,” Tony said. “I want you to live till you’re old and wrinkly and gray, I want you to retire with a million grand-spider-babies, I-” He choked. “I want you to  _ graduate high school.” _

Finally, Tony locked eyes with Peter. Just like that, the distance between them vanished. Tony sat on the side of Peter’s bed and smoothed back his hair, the same way Peter had seen him do to Morgan in all those old family videos.

“I’m sorry I’m not there,” Tony said, and there were tears in his eyes. “But it’s like you told Fisk. Whether I get to see it or not, I want you to get that happy ending. You have too much left to live for.”

“So do you,” Peter rasped.

Tony just watched him for a long moment. “You don’t get it,” he said. It wasn’t an accusation. Just an observation. “I buried my dad, and I buried my kid, and…”

He paused, then shook his head.

“I don’t know how else to explain it to you, Pete. My dad and I, we didn’t have the best relationship, but I loved him. I’d have gone to a hundred of his funerals if it meant I never had to go to yours.”

Peter tried to argue, but this time the words wouldn’t form, tangled somewhere between his brain and his tongue.

“It’s a natural truth,” Tony said. “The earth is round. The sky is blue. Fathers shouldn’t outlive their sons. It’s just the way things are.”

His hand was on Peter’s head, and his thumb absently began to stroke the hair there. Peter’s eyes began to slip closed. Tony gave the top of his head a gentle pat, and Peter forced his eyes open again. He was so tired.

“One last thing, and I’ll let you sleep, okay?” Tony said. His voice was soft, almost airy, and it reminded Peter of the recorded bedtime stories Pepper would play for Morgan. “I don’t know if I ever got the chance to tell you I love you.”

Peter blinked, trying to fight through the haze in his mind, trying to latch onto Tony’s voice.

“I do, kid,” Tony murmured. “I love you.”

There was a beat of silence. Peter was already half-lost in the fog despite himself. Tony flashed him a small smile, then pulled back and patted his leg.

“Alright, Underoos. Lights out.”

Peter didn’t need to be told twice.

* * *

When Peter woke up, the world immediately felt clearer. The dull ache was still settled in his gut, but the fog was gone.

Tony was in the armchair next to Peter’s bed, asleep. The man was probably going to regret it as soon as he woke up. His head was tipped forward so that his chin rested on his chest, crooking his neck at an awkward angle; his arms were crossed, but he’d slid down enough on the seat that his back was bent weirdly against the cushion.

Peter wondered if Tony had moved since their conversation. When Tony had last seen Morgan and Pepper?

Even in his sleep, the man looked exhausted.

The clock on the wall read just past noon. “Friday,” Peter whispered, “what day is it?”

The AI whispered back, and Peter’s heart fell. His talk with Sam and Tony had been yesterday. He’d lost  _ another _ day.

But that would help to explain why Peter was feeling so much better. The pain was still there, but for Peter there were only two kinds of painkillers: the kind that didn’t work, and the kind that knocked him unconscious. If he was this alert, it meant they’d taken him off the drugs.

So the pain right now was at its full extent. And, honestly, it could have been worse.

Sure enough, the IVs were gone. The clip was still on his finger, the one that didn’t have the time travel glove with the watch face. Peter realized suddenly that his neck was bare, but he quickly found the collar on the nightstand beside him, along with Ben’s old pocket watch and the mini-gauntlet watch from Tony.

Peter shifted a bit, and - okay, that didn’t feel too good.

Giving up on the idea of getting up, Peter settled back into the pillows and pushed the blankets back. He was in a hospital gown, but he was relieved to see that he had sweats on underneath it.

After a moment, Peter pulled the gown up, fascinated by the bandages that mummified his abdomen. He poked and prodded and - yeah, that felt even less good.

Despite himself, Peter started to pull back the bandage. He wanted to see underneath.

“What are you doing?”

Peter startled and dropped the hospital gown back down.

Tony was obviously only half-awake, but he was blinking himself back into the land of the living. “Stop that,” he slurred sleepily, waving a hand halfheartedly at Peter. “Leave it alone or you’ll make it worse.”

“Sorry.”

“Sure you are.”

Tony began to lean forward but froze halfway, face screwing up in pain. Peter reached out to help him, remembering just a moment too late how unpleasant it felt to move. Tony batted his hands back just as Peter froze, too.

“Don’t you help me. I’m not the one in a hospital bed,” Tony hissed.

Peter laughed through the pain, settling back into the bed. There was some irony to it, having had an actual hole blown through him and only being slightly more crippled than the guy who slept a little funny.

“Yeah, yeah, it’s hilarious,” Tony muttered. To his credit, he was able to push himself the rest of the way forward. His eyes finally looked clear and focused, though still a bit tired. Peter wondered just how long it had been since Tony had had a good night of sleep.

“How are you feeling?” Tony asked.

“Alright,” Peter said. At Tony’s look he specified, “Moving hurts, but the pain’s not bad. Honestly.”

After a moment, Tony nodded. “They took you off the good stuff last night,” he said. “I didn’t think you’d be ready to be off it, but what do I know? Apparently you’ve taken up getting hit by trains as a hobby.”

Peter sputtered like a fish out of water. “I was  _ fine.” _

“Of course you were.”

Tony paused, and his demeanor softened. “Was someone there for you?” he asked.

“Um.” Peter shrugged, taken aback. “I woke up in a jail cell in the Netherlands-”

Tony balked, and Peter hurried on. “But...but, yeah. Happy got there fast. Actually, Happy has been there for me a lot. So has Mrs. Stark.”

Tony nodded, like he was at least mostly satisfied by the answer. He pretended to pick a piece of lint off his sleeve. “You’ve been around Pep. So...you’ve met Morgan?”

Peter smiled. “Yeah. She’s an amazing kid.”

“She is.”

“I get to be her sidekick when she’s a grown up. She had me sign the paperwork and everything.”

Tony beamed. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. In red crayon, so you know it’s official.”

The man barked a laugh, and a faraway look glazed over his eyes. For a moment, Peter thought he saw tears. But then Tony was turning away.

“You must be hungry,” he said suddenly, pushing himself to his feet. Peter heard a few cracks and winced in sympathy. “You’re on a liquid only diet, doctor’s orders, but I can probably get a five-star meatloaf milkshake here in no time.”

Peter grimaced. That sounded worse than any meatloaf May had ever made. He could only hope that Tony was joking.

“Be back in a flash,” Tony said, still turned away from Peter. “I’ll let the doctor know you’re up.”

As he spoke, Tony hurried towards the door. Peter watched him go.

“For the record,” Peter called after him, “I love you, too.”

Tony froze in the doorway. He gave a staggered nod, crossing his arms over his chest. “I know,” he Han Solo-ed, then hesitated. “I hope you knew, too.”

And...yes, Peter realized. He  _ had _ known.

Sometimes the grief was blinding, overshadowing all their memories together, twisting them with regrets and doubts. It was so easy to look at what he’d missed, what he’d lost, and to think that that meant more than everything he’d ever had.

But Peter guessed it had always been obvious. For Spiderman, and for just  _ Peter. _ Suits and upgrades, and pizza shared in the lab; late nights to monitor Karen, and homework help; answering the phone when Spiderman needed help, and answering the phone just to talk with Peter. Tony had never put it into words, but he’d said it in everything he did.

So...yeah, Peter had known. He’d just forgotten for a little while.

The door closed behind Tony.

Then Peter’s watch beeped and flared to life. Dr. Banner had finally found them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're in the home stretch, friends!


End file.
